


This is what summer tastes like;

by scalira



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Beverly Marsh as the accepting cigarette aunt, Coming Out, F/M, Gen, I run this town now, M/M, Pennywise never existed, Recreational Drug Use, The Losers Club, time bound homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-07 18:12:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12238062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scalira/pseuds/scalira
Summary: The losers club goes on a road of self-discovery over the course of several summers.





	1. Self-discovery

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna have some Stan/Bill, Eddie/Richie and Ben/Mike in later chapters, but for now it's mostly about the characters going on a road of self-discovery.
> 
> (also, why didn't IT introduce a female character I could ship Beverly with? This homophobia)

Beverly realizes she likes girls way before any other members of the Losers Club realize they like boys.

It started with little things: being painfully aware of the space between her shoulder and the shoulder of Katy Adams during her first sleepover; not being able to keep her eyes off Beatrice Thomson with her long, raven hair and piercing blue eyes; sneaking into R-rated movies in the movie theatre and watching the girl instead of the guy during the sex scene. She didn’t think much of it for most of her childhood. She didn’t necessarily think it was normal to feel that way about girls, but she had other stuff to deal with. Her foreign feelings for girls weren’t half as scary as trying to avoid her father in her own house, or having to shrink into herself whenever a man saw her as a space to be filled, or trying to find her place in a world so determined to silence her voice.

Her mother always used to tell her she should never let a man interrupt her when she was talking. Men did that, she said, interrupting girls because they thought they didn’t have anything important to say anyway. Beverly tried to follow that advice, even when her father’s hand screwed around her throat one time and squeezed until her vision turned blurry, but she didn’t feel like anyone was actually letting her talk until she moved to live with her aunt.

Her aunt, raised by the same people who raised her mother, was one of the most amazing people Beverly had ever met. She lived alone in a small house with her dog, single and always smiling.

“Men are a waste of time anyway,” she said when Beverly asked her about them, lighting her cigarette on her porch. “They’re only useful when it comes to procreation, Beverly. I’m pretty sure that’s also the only thing they’re good at; putting their dicks in things.” She took a long drag from her cigarette, inhaling the smoke into her lungs before exhaling it into the air. Beverly watched closely.

“Women, on the other hand… we’re fucking amazing. We can do anything we want.” Then she looked at her, blue eyes like Beverly’s own, like her mother used to have. “ _You_ can do anything you want. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Beverly took that advice to heart. She stored it with her mother’s advice and clung onto it like an anchor. Beverly was never comfortable around men, around their big hands and seeking eyes, but thinking about her mother and aunt helped her to hold her head high as she passed men on the street. To stop shrinking into herself when men demanded space she could not give them.

Her repressed feelings for girls resurfaced once she got rid of her fear of men. Almost as if her brain couldn’t handle multiple fears at a time and could only deal with her sexuality once her fear of men was dealt with. And after she learned to walk with her shoulders pushed back, to look men in the eye when she talked to them, once she stopped seeing her father in every man with a smile a bit too friendly or a voice a bit too smooth, girls didn’t even seem so scary anymore. They just seemed… exciting. Their long hair, pink lips, soft skin. Girls were like the forbidden fruit, and Beverly allowed herself to revel in the secrets they held in the palms of their hands, in the warmth of their mouths, in the crooks of their smiles.

She kissed a girl with skin that felt like summer and lips that tasted like warmth. And then she kissed a girl with metal through her nose and a motor cycle between her legs. She kissed a girl who cried afterwards, and one who grabbed into her hair so firmly Beverly imagined it was the last thing keeping her grounded.

The more girls she kissed, the more her lips tried to form themselves around a word to define herself. A word that had been thrown at her as an insult, spat at her from moving cars and hurled at her like a dagger. But touching girls empowered her enough to reclaim it and to own it. To be proud of it.

Of course she didn’t use that particular word when she told the losers club. That slur was for her to reclaim and nobody else, for her to carry. But she did make an announcement the next summer, when she moved back to Derry with her aunt.

“Guys,” she said, looking around their little group. Eddie had grown a bit and Richie’s voice had dropped, but other than that, they all still looked exactly the same. Beverly almost felt like an alien when she thought about all the changes she had gone through in just one short year. “I’m a lesbian.”

No stuttering. No endless stream of useless words until she finally worked up the courage to spit it out. Just like that – quick and to the point. The L-word. Beverly bit her lip as she awaited their judgement, heart hammering against her ribcage. She had imagined it numerous times: how they’d all turn away from her; drop her like a brick. After all, nobody wanted to be associated with a _queer_. Beverly’s vision started to turn blurry with anxiety, but then Richie pushed up his glasses and grinned.

“I thought you were Canadian,” he said.

“No, idiot,” Eddie groaned, “it means she likes girls.”

“I know what it means, Edward! Are you familiar with the concept of a _joke_?”

“Only when they’re funny.”

“I’ll show you what’s funny – ”

“Guys!” Stan interrupted, glaring at the both of them. “Can you keep your bickering for another time? We’re trying to be supportive here.”

“Y-yeah,” Bill agreed. He took a step closer to Beverly and smiled. Beverly’s anxiety immediately vanished.

“It’s o-okay, Bev,” he said, eyes big and honest.

“It is?” Beverly asked. She hated how her voice trembled and how her eyes filled with tears.

“Of course it is. You’re one oh-of us and you always will be. Nothing can ever ch-change that.”

“He’s right,” Ben nodded. Beverly remembered his crush on her last summer and had been scared he wouldn’t take the news well, but she smiled at him and muttered a soft thank you.

“And if anyone ever gives you shit for it, we’ll beat them up for you,” Mike added. That made Beverly laugh.

“Thanks, but I can handle myself.”

“Oh, we know,” Eddie said.

“But friends have each other’s backs,” Stan said. “So we have yours.”

“Thank you, you guys. That really means a lot to me.”

“No problem,” Richie shrugged. “Now, have you kissed any hot girls lately?”


	2. Facing fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie likes to believe he doesn't have any fears in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Brianna because she loves Richie A Lot

Richie likes to believe he doesn’t have any fears in life. He was never scared of monsters under his bed or the wind howling in strange ways during the night. He’s always the first one to jump off the quarry cliff into the lake (well, right after Beverly, at least), his knees and elbows are constantly bruised from all the falling and fighting and scraping his skin on the pavement. He watches horror movies with slight amusement and some disgust at best, but no fear. Never fear.

The first time in his life he truly feels terrified is in ’91, when he’s fifteen and starting high school.

There’s a new kid in their class that year. A boy named Noah, with eyes so brown they’re almost black and freckles covering his nose and cheekbones like scattered stars. He’s shy and short for his age, but Richie finds himself fascinated by him. By his slender fingers gripping his pencil, his long eyelashes, his crooked front tooth. The way his hair falls in front of his eyes when he’s bent over his books in the library, or how his voice sounds when he has to do a book report in front of the class.

It’s not the first time Richie finds himself in awe with other boys. His mother always tells him he’s awfully jealous of everyone around him for a boy with parents who are still together and a decent house to live in, so he figures his fascination with boys is just the first step on the road to becoming jealous of them. You know – see what they have and what they’re about before getting jealous of their personality traits, looks or possessions. Jealousy starts with observation.

But no matter how long Richie waits for the familiar sense of envy to kick in, it never comes.

Sure, something stirs in the pit of his stomach whenever Noah speaks or does anything in general. Something very similar to jealousy, like a little animal pulling on the inside of his stomach. It’s not a nice feeling, but it isn’t jealousy.

Stan is the first one to notice something is up with him. Of course he is. And of course Stan the Man can’t keep an observation to himself and _has_ to bring it up when their gang is riding home after school on a particularly warm spring afternoon.

“So, Rich, I have a question for you,” he starts, and Richie just _knows_ this is gonna be bad. Stan never _just_ has a question for him: there’s always something attached to it.

“Yes, Stanley, that was me you heard doing your mom last night,” Richie says, because that’s what he does: he hides his panic with inappropriate jokes. He isn’t even sure _why_ he’s panicking exactly, but he’s sure as hell hiding it.

“Funny, I thought it was a dying cat I heard,” Stan retaliates, circling around him on his bike.

“I didn’t know you recorded yourself masturbating and replayed it yesterday.”

“At least my dick is big enough to play with.”

Richie groans. Stan is getting way better at comebacks, and he knows it. Sometimes it’s almost impossible for Richie to win an argument with him.

“Whatever, Uris. Are you gonna ask me the question or not?”

“Oh, yes,” Stan says, as if he’d already forgotten what he was gonna ask him. “That new kid, Noah. Why don’t you like him?”

Richie stops abruptly, staring at Stan.

“Why do you think I don’t like him?”

Stan stops too, leaning on the handlebar of his bike to look at Richie.

“You just look angry whenever he talks. And you haven’t made fun of him once, which usually means you don’t like someone.”

Richie shrugs helplessly. It’s not like he doesn’t like Noah – it’s just… he can’t really say what it is if it isn’t dislike or envy. He’s intrigued by him, but he’d rather die than admit that to anyone. But it’s more than that… it’s not just fascination, it’s almost… frustration. But Richie can’t figure out for the life of him why Noah would make him feel like that.

“Why do you even care about who I do and don’t like?” Richie asks instead of answering the question. He suddenly feels defensive about this, even though he doesn’t know why.

Stan shrugs.

“It’s just that I’m pretty sure Noah likes you.”

Richie feels his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“What?”

“Yeah, he asked me about you today. Told me you guys have to work on a science project and he wanted to work with you, but he wasn’t sure if you would want that. Since, you know, as I said, you kind of act like you don’t like him.”

“I do like him,” Richie says quickly. “I don’t know him that well, but I’m sure he’s cool.”

“Alright,” Stan smiles, and Richie can’t help but feel like Stan won somehow. They weren’t even arguing, and he still feels like Stan won.

“Alright,” Richie repeats, a weird feeling settling on his chest. Almost like a weight pressing down on him. Almost like he said something he shouldn’t have.

“Hey, s-slugs!” Bill yells from the end of the street. “Are you c-coming or not?”

“Coming!” Richie yells, pushing himself off the pavement. He rides as fast as he can to put some space between him and the conversation he just had with Stan, but no matter how fast he goes, the weird feeling in his chest doesn’t go away.

***

Richie does eventually end up working with Noah on their science project. He walks up to him the next Monday morning, tells him they will be working together and to come to his place after school to discuss what they’re gonna do, and that’s that. Noah smiles at him and the same thing presses down on his chest, but Richie just turns on his heels and walks away.

They work on a volcano for a couple of weeks, meeting at Richie’s house every Wednesday after school. They start hanging out at school too, sitting together during the classes they share and sometimes eating lunch together. Richie never invites him to the losers table, and Noah never asks. Richie isn’t necessarily _against_ the idea of introducing him to the losers, but he prefers it like this: like Noah is his own personal secret, something only he can enjoy.

The science fair comes and goes, they get a B+ on their volcano and they keep hanging out after that. Noah is nice to talk to; Richie never feels the need to cover up his insecurities with stupid jokes. Noah allows him to be vulnerable around him in ways Richie isn’t comfortable doing with the losers. He even tells him he feels like his parents regret having him – something only Bill knows about him. In return, Noah tells him his father used to beat him up.

“Why?” Richie asks. It’s the summer of ’91, Richie is fifteen and he still thinks he has no fears. They’re sitting on the edge of the quarry cliff, the one the losers jump off every first day of summer, no matter the weather. It’s the first time Richie has allowed Noah a glimpse into his other life, his loser life.

Noah shrugs, looking over the horizon. His eyes turn into melted chocolate in the evening light.

“Never thought of asking him. But I figure he was trying to beat me straight, you know?” A pause.  “Literally.”

“Literally?”

Noah chews his lip and glances at Richie through his eyelashes. Damn, those fucking eyelashes. Richie’s breath hitches in his throat.

“I’m, uh – I… I like boys,” Noah confesses, voice barely louder than a whisper. All color has vanished from his cheeks.

Richie just stares at him. He stares until Noah finally fully looks at him, and then Richie’s eyes travel to Noah’s lips, and then Noah leans in, and then Noah surges forward, and then Richie feels his lips on his own.

This is when the fear sets in.

He jerks away like he got burned and jumps to his feet, so fast he almost loses balance and falls off the cliff. Noah’s hands shoot forward to keep him up, but Richie slaps them away and stammers a quick apology before jumping on his bike and taking off.

The taste of Noah’s lips mixes with the salty taste of Richie’s tears, and the combination only makes him cry harder.

***

Beverly doesn’t think much of it when Richie doesn’t show up for a couple of days. Sometimes that boy is so caught up in other stuff he simply forgets he was supposed to meet the others, and then he’ll show up the next day and it’d be like he wasn’t even gone. But then nobody hears from him for an entire week, and she’s starting to worry.

“Maybe he’s grounded,” Eddie says, throwing a rock in the lake. Mike narrows his eyes at him and skips a rock three times until it sinks.

“We’re supposed to skip rocks, Edward,” he complains, “not just throwing them.”

Eddie looks him dead in the eye as he drops three more rocks directly into the lake. Mike groans in frustration and turns around to look for more flat rocks to skip.

“Richie w-w-would call me if he was gr-grounded,” Bill says. He’s lying on his back, arms tucked under his head, staring up to the bright blue sky. Bev can tell Richie’s absence is worrying him too.

“Maybe he forgot,” Stan offers. “You know how he can get.”

“Or he went on a trip and forgot to tell us,” Ben adds. Stan points at him and nods to show his agreement.

“His parents are home,” Beverly says. “I saw their car in the driveway yesterday.”

“Maybe he’s just sick,” Mike says. He has gathered a couple of perfect rocks to skip over the water and hesitates before giving two to Eddie.

“M-maybe,” Bill says.

Beverly bites her lip. Something tells her it’s more than that, and if Richie doesn’t show up tomorrow, she’s gonna find out what.

***

She doesn’t even have to wait that long. Richie knocks on her door that night, hair a mess and glasses askew. He looks confused and lost, so she doesn’t hesitate to let him in.

“Where have you been?” She demands. She hadn’t meant to sound like a mom, but she just crosses her arms and stares at him.

Richie looks at the floor.

“Figuring stuff out,” he says quietly. Beverly immediately drops the attitude. Richie is _never_ quiet.

“What’s wrong?” She asks.

Richie shrugs. Bev can tell he’s trying to come up with a clever reply, but then his shoulders hunch forward and he falls onto the couch with a strangled sob, hands covering his face.

“Hey, hey,” Beverly says softly as she sinks down onto the couch too. She puts a reassuring hand on Richie’s shoulder, and for the first time, he doesn’t shake it off.

“What’s up, Richie? You know you can tell me.”

“I… I’m – ” He struggles to find the words, shaking his head in frustration.

“Noah kissed me,” he eventually breathes. His entire body shudders with it, as if he’s deflating.

“Oh,” Beverly says. She was expecting a lot of things, but she wasn’t expecting _that_. “Did you… kiss back?”

“No!” He looks at her, tears dripping from underneath his glasses and cheeks flushed. “No, he just… we were at the cliff and we were just talking and then – and then he kissed me.”

“Is that why you didn’t show up for a week?”

Richie shrugs again. If he can’t come up with a stupid joke to make, his secondary defense mechanism is usually silence. Beverly nudges him gently.

“Hey, you’re talking to a lesbian here, remember? There’s nothing you can tell me I will ever hold against you.”

Richie sighs deeply and rubs his hands together. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again.

Minutes tick by in silence. Beverly knows all she can give him is time, so she waits. Eventually, when Richie starts squirming under the uncomfortable effect of unwanted silence, he speaks.

“I… I liked it. I liked when he kissed me.”

“Okay,” Beverly nods. “It’s okay, Richie. You’re allowed to like it.”

Richie looks at her, lip trembling and eyes huge behind his glasses.

“I’m just so – I’m so confused, Bev. I feel like there’s a storm in my mind and I can’t do anything to stop it.”

“It’s okay to be confused too. You don’t have to have it all figured out, Rich. You can question yourself and you can experiment and you can be confused and you can change your mind as much as you want. There’s nothing wrong about trying to find yourself.”

Richie sniffs and nods. His hands are shaking, so Beverly reaches out to hold them.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Richie says suddenly, an edge of panic in his voice. Beverly gives his hands a reassuring squeeze.

“Of course I won’t,” she assures him. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Richie exhales and leans against her side.

“Thank you, Beverly,” he says, sounding exhausted. “Thank you.”


	3. Soul searching and research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike never makes fun of him. About anything. As the new kid, and the nerdy kid, and of course the fat kid, that’s something quite refreshing to experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I noticed sometimes people enjoy live-tweeting fics, so if you want to do that for this fic, please tag your tweets with #TIWSTL so I can see your tweets :) (this sounds so lame as if i feel like im important enough to have live tweeters lmao you know what i mean tho please dont hate me) 
> 
> ANYWAY here's Ben's chapter

In the summer of ’91, Ben realizes a couple of things:

  * Mike Hanlon is the only person worthy of his time when it comes to conspiracy theories
  * Sleepovers with the losers are exactly as he had anticipated
  * There’s something thrilling and secretive about lying on his side, facing Mike in the darkness, with the covers pulled over their heads as they whisper excitedly about lizard people and the moon landing and the assassination of John F. Kennedy.



Those are just a couple of his observations. Richie always makes fun of him for his constant need to put things in lists, but Ben doesn’t care. It’s quieter in his head when he takes the time to put everything in a neat order. He even ranked the losers from the most to the least likeable, but of course he doesn’t tell them that (he likes Mike the most, because he’s Mike and his smile could probably be seen from space and he always smells like freshly cut grass.) (He likes himself the least, because that’s just how Ben thinks it should be; he should never like himself more than he likes others.).

Mike never makes fun of him. About anything. As the new kid, and the nerdy kid, and of course the fat kid, that’s something quite refreshing to experience. He never rolls his eyes when Ben tells him something, he never scoffs at one of Ben’s hyper-fixations, he never even tells him he’s being ridiculous for liking something. Instead, he just sits there and listens.

Mike is really good at listening.

He doesn’t listen like others do. No, Mike Hanlon listens with his entire body. He always swings his leg over a chair and crosses his arms over the back of it, resting his chin on them as he listens to Ben. He nods and hums, asks questions, never lets his eyes wander. He always gives Ben his undivided attention.

Mike’s listening is actually on one of Ben’s lists. He calls it the ‘things Mike Hanlon is really good at’ list. This list includes but is not limited to: playing football, making jokes, caring for animals, singing and having a really fucking nice smile.

That last one was added quite recently.

Because recently, Ben has been noticing other stuff about Mike. Not just the obvious stuff everyone knows about him, like the fact that he’s the best football player at Derry High _by far_ (seriously, Ben sometimes overhears others complain about Mike’s transfer to public school because he quickly rose to fame as star quarterback at age fifteen) or that he’s a genuinely nice person or that he has a good sense of humor. Ben also notices stuff like the softness in his voice when he talks about cats, and the little gold flecks in his eyes, and that he always bites his nails so short they bleed. He notices when Mike is having a bad day or when something is bothering him or when he needs to be left alone for a while.

It's not really special for Ben to notice little things like that. He also notices them with Richie (who picks his nose when he thinks nobody’s watching) and Eddie (who has a nervous tic that only show up when they have a pop quiz) and Beverly and Bill and Stan. Mike is no exception to Ben’s perceptive eye.

Except it feels like he is.

Ben doesn’t realize he observes Mike differently from the others until their next sleepover. They gathered their sleeping bags in Bill’s living room and had ‘gone to sleep’ almost two hours ago, but Ben and Mike are still awake. That usually happens – they usually don’t get any sleep at these sleepovers. Somehow, they keep finding things to talk about when darkness puts a thin veil between them and reality.

They’re discussing the possibility of the government hiding alien life from the public, but Mike seems off tonight. It’s something about his expression, about the tension in his shoulders, that draws Ben’s attention.

“Hey,” he says, interrupting his own monologue about area 51, “is everything okay?”

Mike’s eyes snap to Ben’s face. They’re huge and dark in the moonlight.

“What?”

Ben shifts closer to Mike.

“I asked if you’re okay.”

“Oh,” Mike exhales. Ben can feel his breath on his cheeks. “Yeah. Just distracted.”

“By what?”

Mike shrugs.

“Some stuff I’ve been thinking about lately.”

“Something I can help with?”

Something weird happens right then, on the floor of Bill’s living room. Time seems to slow, or the atmosphere seems to shift. Ben catches Mike glancing at his lips, notices how Mike licks his own, shifts his body closer, and _oh_. With a shock, Ben realizes Mike is about to kiss him.

Everything freezes. Ben’s cheeks flush, his heart leaps into his throat. He doesn’t know if he should move or stop this or close the space between them. He doesn’t know if he wants this or doesn’t want this or is ready for this – if he’ll ever be ready for this. His best friend. Mike is his _best friend_ , and he’s about to kiss him.

Ben’s mind goes a hundred miles an hour. He makes at least five lists in the mere seconds it takes for Mike to gather enough courage to press their lips together: a list of all the times Ben has thought about boys like _that_ ; a list of all the times Ben has questioned his sexuality; a list of all the times he had stolen a glance at a shirtless Mike during practice.

And then, after what feels like a lifetime, Ben feels Mike’s warm mouth on his own. Ben doesn’t move – is afraid to. As if, if he moves, he’ll chase Mike away or he’ll wake up and realize this is a dream. So instead, he just lies perfectly still and lets Mike kiss him.

The kiss doesn’t even last a full two seconds. Mike pulls back, eyes still closed, and sucks in his bottom lip. Ben exhales. Then inhales. Then exhales again. No words come out. They’re both quiet.

They both _stay_ quiet.

Mike turns onto his back. He doesn’t say anything – no apology or explanation or _anything at all_. Ben still can’t find his voice, so he just turns onto his back too.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

***

The kiss seems to be completely forgotten the next day. Mike greets him at the kitchen table like he does every time they have a sleepover: obnoxiously cheerful and way too loud.

“God, Mike, what the fuck does your grandpa feed you on that farm?” Richie groans into his bowl of cereal. Richie isn’t a morning person. Hell, Ben is pretty sure he can’t even be classified as a _person_ before eleven.

“Eggs and bacon, every single day,” Mike replies. He leans over the table to grab the orange juice which allows Ben a look into his shirt as he does so. Ben looks away. “Oh, and I also have to get up at 6am sharp every day to go feed the chickens, so I’m used to waking up early.”

“ _I’m used to waking up early_ ,” Richie repeats mockingly. “We get it, you’re a fucking role model. My mom already wishes you were her son, no need to rub it in.”

Mike grins, like that’s a compliment. Ben is quiet.

They all have breakfast together, and then they all start leaving Bill’s place. Mike is the first one to leave because he has work on the farm and Ben purposely hangs out with Beverly and Bill for most of the afternoon to avoid being left alone with his thoughts. But he eventually starts feeling like he overstayed his welcome and packs his bags too.

“See you at the q-q-quarry tomorrow?” Bill asks before Ben leaves. Bless Bill, to be honest. He always makes sure everyone feels like they’re really wanted during their hangouts, not just tolerated. He always explicitly asks everyone if they’ll come tomorrow. He always explicitly _invites_ everyone.

“Of course,” Ben smiles. He says goodbye and mounts his bike.

He makes a mental list on his way home. The ‘reasons why I might be gay’ list. It goes like this:

  * _I might have had a crush on a boy in kindergarten_
  * _I can confidently say I find several men really attractive_
  * _That one time I jacked off and thought about Harrison Ford_
  * _I always have trouble focusing when Mike takes his shirt off_
  * _I liked the kiss_



He writes all the reasons down when he gets home and puts the list in his bag. The thought of his mom cleaning his room and finding it terrifies him enough to want to keep it with him at all times.

Big mistake.

***

The losers usually waste their days away at the quarry. Sometimes they bring games or books, but they mostly just swim and nap and talk. It’s a nice way to spend the summer.

Ben was nervous about seeing Mike again after the kiss, but Mike doesn’t seem bothered by it. He doesn’t even seem to be planning on acknowledging the kiss. He acts the way he always does, having seemingly forgotten what had happened between them.

Maybe he has. Maybe Mike thought the kiss had been a dream. It sure as hell feels unreal to Ben, so Mike might actually think it never really happened. Ben can live with that. He can live with pretending nothing changed between them if that means they won’t change for the worse.

Hell, he can even live with never thinking about his sexuality ever again.

That is, of course, until Richie goes rummaging through his stuff and pulls out the list.

“Hey, what’s this?” He asks, holding the list up. “Another one of your lists, Benjamin? Let me guess, your list of times you’ve masturbated to the imagine of Eddie’s mom?”

“Hey!” Eddie complains two rocks over. “I’m not even participating in this conversation, keep me out of it!”

Richie makes a wanking gesture at Eddie and then focuses back on the list. Ben tries to yank it out of his hands, but Richie has already read the title.

“Oh,” he says, his teasing expression faltering immediately. He pushes up his glasses and hands the list back to Ben. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Ben can feel frustrated tears rise behind his eyes. He’d only _just_ started questioning himself; he really didn’t need anyone else questioning him too.

“What’d the list say?” Eddie asks.

“All the times your mom flicked her clit,” Richie replies without thinking.

“ _God_ , Richie!” Eddie groans. “You’re disgusting.”

Eddie gets up and walks past them to get to the lake. Richie stays quiet until he’s sure nobody can hear them and then says, “if you need anyone to talk to, you can talk to me. Or, well, I can imagine you don’t want that. You can also talk to Bev about it.”

Ben wants to ask why he should talk to Richie about his sexuality, but he figures everyone has their own stuff to deal with. Ben and Richie might be dealing with the same stuff, but that doesn’t mean they need to share it with each other.

“Thanks,” he says softly, crumbling the list and stuffing it into his bag, making sure it’s well hidden this time.

“No problem,” Richie says as seriously as Ben has ever heard him. “And I’m sorry again. I won’t tell anyone, promise.”

Richie never apologizes, let alone twice in a row, nor does he ever promise anything, so Ben believes him.

***

“So tell me why you need to go to the library of Augusta again?” Beverly asks a couple of days later. She’s driving her aunt’s run down car, hands gripping the steering wheel just hard enough for Ben to know she’s still a bit nervous. She’d had her license for a couple of months now, but Beverly doesn’t really like to drive. She says she likes the freedom that comes with it, just not the responsibility.

Ben sighs. He’d tricked Bev into taking him to the capital by coming up with some lame excuse about a summer essay he wanted to nail by adding some historic facts, but he knew Beverly didn’t really believe him. She still agreed to drive him anyway, which kind of made her friend of the year and also his hero.

“Okay, I need to tell you something,” he eventually says, heart racing. He can’t believe he’s about to say it.

“I’m listening.”

“Uh, lately I’ve just been kind of… questioning? About, like… me? My – my sexuality?”

Beverly raises her eyebrows.

“Oh, okay,” she says. “And why do you need to question yourself in the library of Augusta?”

“Because – ” Ben groans “ – ugh, I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“I’m sure it isn’t!” Beverly assures him. “If I wasn’t driving right now, I would totally give you a stern look to scold you for thinking you’re stupid.”

That makes Ben laugh, even if it’s just a little bit.

“Fine, okay, it isn’t stupid. But you know how I get. I need to do research about _everything_.”

“Including your sexuality?” Beverly guesses.

“Including my sexuality,” Ben nods.

“So, what? You’re just gonna look for books like ‘am I gay? Yes or no’ or?”

“I don’t know, Bev. I’m just confused and I want to not be confused and the only way I know how to do that is to read up on it.”

Beverly pulls up her shoulder in a half-shrug.

“Okay,” she says, small amused smile dancing on her lips.

“Okay,” Ben repeats.

***

There’s a small section dedicated to gay and lesbian literature in the Augusta library, and Ben and Bev take as many books as they can carry back to their table and start skimming through them. Beverly puts a book about homosexuality during World War II between an innocent looking fairytale book so she doesn’t look suspicious and Ben just makes sure nobody can read the title of the book he’s holding.

Eventually, after doing hours of soul searching and research, Ben finds a term he could see himself be comfortable with one day: bisexual.

“Bisexuality,” he reads quietly, not wanting to draw attention to them, “the attraction to both sexes. I think that fits me.”

“Yeah?” Beverly asks.

“I guess. I’ve definitely had crushes on girls before.” He gives her a knowing look. “And I can definitely see myself getting a crush on a girl again. But I think I also had crushes on boys. And kissing boys doesn’t repulse me, so there’s that.”

Beverly extends her hand over the table with a proud smile.

“Well, congratulations, Benjamin. The B in Ben obviously stands for Bisexual.”

Ben chuckles as he shakes Beverly’s hand.

“I guess it does,” he agrees.


	4. Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You th-think I’ll kiss a boy in Portland?” Bill asks.
> 
> “I don’t know,” Richie replies, “but it’s worth the shot, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We deserve more Bill/Richie friendship. I'm here to provide

His psychologist always used to tell Bill his stutter was a result of his mind working too fast for his mouth to keep up. He had so many thoughts whirling around in his head that his mouth couldn’t form the words fast enough to utter them correctly, and that’s why his words sometimes just got stuck halfway through.

Bill never minded that stutter. It were the people around him that minded, like his father and teachers. They never let him finish his sentence because it just took too long, so Bill learned how to stay quiet. How to not bother people with his words.

Honestly, it was fine by him. Having people be annoyed when you talked meant you weren’t called on to answer during class or had to talk about your boring day at the dinner table. So his thoughts stayed in his head, and sometimes it felt like they bounced against the inside of his skull and tried to force their way out, but Bill didn’t mind the stutter.

The losers club doesn’t mind either. They always let him finish his sentence, never get impatient when Bill’s tongue gets twisted on a particularly difficult vowel. Sure, Richie makes fun of him for it, but that’s just Richie being Richie. They’ve known each other since they were four, so Bill really hasn’t known a Richie who _didn’t_ make fun of him for something.

He kind of grows out of the stutter after a while. Or maybe he just learns how to control it better. Keeping a journal helps because it gives him somewhere to put all the thoughts bouncing around in his head, and by the age of sixteen, Bill only stutters anymore when he’s nervous.

He kind of misses it. It’s weird to miss something that makes you an easy target like that, like missing your ugly front teeth or your bad skin, but in a way, his stutter was like a shield. He was left alone by adults and his stutter was the _only_ thing kids bullied him with. Nothing else about him mattered to them, because his stutter was so obvious they didn’t need to dig deeper to find something about him to torment Bill with. Bullies were lazy like that. But now, with his stutter like a distant memory in the mind of the average bully, Bill turns into a completely different target.

You see, even though his father raised him and Georgie with an iron fist in a very hyper-masculine, typically American household, Bill never really _got_ heterosexuality. He knew from a very young age that his love for others could never be limited to just girls. His dad beat him for it and his mother cried about it until Bill stopped telling them he wasn’t sure he would marry a girl when he grew up. They silenced him about that just like they silenced him with his stutter, but that didn’t stop the thoughts from running through his mind. He got crushes on boys just as much as he got crushes on girls, fantasized about both. And occasionally, he stole a glance at the boys in the locker rooms.

That’s what made him a target.

Henry Bowers caught him once, when he was fifteen. Of course Bill wasn’t looking at _him_ (seriously, he still had _standards_ ) but Bowers caught him glancing at Justin Bonnet and told the entire locker room Bill was looking at dicks. That was the day Stuttering Bill turned into Faggot Denbrough.

The daily ‘You have something to say, B-b-b-b-ill?’ jokes turned into ‘You ever did anal, Faggot Denbrough?’ jokes. Boys started avoiding him at school and targeting him on the streets. He didn’t even need to come out for people to want him dead.

The losers club still doesn’t care, though. They hang out just like they did before, even if that means they become targets too. All boys in their group get accused of being a fairy, of sneaking out of classrooms to meet Bill in the restroom to fuck, but they never drop Bill for it. They never even ask him if it’s true, because it doesn’t matter: friends have your back, whether the rumors are true or not.

Richie gets angry a lot. His threats sound a lot more serious now that he’s grown to be almost 6ft and started wearing glasses that didn’t make his eyes look like fishbowls. If he wouldn’t know him, Bill might even be scared of him. Richie threatens to beat up everyone making Bill feel bad, and though the bullies laugh about Richie probably getting fucked by Bill, there’s always some unease around them when Richie gets angry.

The bullying continues throughout the year and Bill is careful not to raise any more suspicion by looking at boys in ways that could be perceived as wrong, but behind closed doors, he still thinks about them. Those feelings don’t go away, and Bill hates it. He doesn’t hate those feelings or himself, though. He hates everyone who makes him feel like shit for something he can’t control.

The summer of ’92 brings some relief. Bill is no longer stuck with people who hate him for just existing, and he can surround himself with the people who actually care about him. The losers spend every day of the hot, searing summer together, but on Bill’s sixteenth birthday, Richie finds him alone on his roof.

He sits down next to Bill, letting his legs dangle from the rooftop. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, takes one out and lights it.

“How’d you know where I was?” Bill asks after Richie took a drag.

Richie exhales and offers the cigarette to Bill. Bill takes it.

“You always came up here when we were little because your dad is afraid of heights,” Richie says, a small smile dancing on his lips. He jerks his chin in the direction of his own house across the street. “We’d both sit on our own rooftops until the sun would set, trying to communicate with wide arm gestures.”

Bill laughs at the memory.

“Yeah, we couldn’t yell across the street because my mom would get mad at me.”

Richie laughs too. He takes the cigarette from Bill and takes another drag.

“I’m sorry this year has been so shitty for you,” he says after a while. Richie isn’t comfortable with silences around most people. Bill prides himself in the fact that Richie feels safe enough with him to not feel the need to fill all silences with stupid jokes and talking.

“It’s okay,” Bill shrugs. “It’s not your problem to deal with.”

Richie is quiet again. He looks over the houses in their street, eyebrows knitted together.

“What if it is?” He asks suddenly.

“What?”

Richie runs his hand through his hair and chews his lip. His cigarette sits forgotten between his fingertips.

“You remember Noah?” He says eventually.

“Yeah. You were science partners with him.”

“Yeah. Well, last summer…” Richie looks at him, cheeks rosy pink and eyes big behind his glasses. “Last summer, Noah kissed me.”

Bill’s heart starts hammering in his chest.

“He did?”

Richie nods. “And I liked it.” He chuckles dryly. “I liked it a lot, actually. Struggled with it a lot too, though.”

“Does anyone else know about it?”

“Beverly does. I tried to tell my mom, but she said it was a scream for attention and left it at that. I actually kind of dated him for a couple of months, before he had to move back to California.”

“Oh,” Bill says, because he doesn’t know what the fuck there is to say. Richie is… Richie is _coming out_ to him. Richie is telling him he isn’t alone. It’s a thought that hadn’t even _occurred_ to Bill: not being alone in this. Sure, he had Beverly, but that was different. Even though Beverly told the losers she was gay, she was still in the closet to everyone else. And, unlike with Bill, nobody suspected or assumed a thing about her.

“What I’m trying to say is… it’s my problem too, Bill. I understand. I hate that we live in a world where we can’t be who we are, can’t love who we want, but I thought you should know you’re not alone.”

Bill doesn’t realize he’s crying until a tear lands on his jeans. He quickly wipes his cheeks, afraid of Richie’s reaction to seeing him cry, but Richie just gently nudges him with his shoulder.

“It’s okay, I cried a lot too,” he tells him.

“Thanks, Richie,” Bill says softly, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Richie shrugs.

“No problem. I’ve been meaning to come out to you for ages.”

“It must’ve been hard for you to deal with that on your own.”

“Meh, it’s alright. It’s nobody’s business anyway.”

Bill thinks about Bowers and his gang of bullies, all assuming and getting involved in shit that’s not their shit to get involved in to begin with.

“Damn right it isn’t,” he says.

They sit in silence again for a while. Richie takes out another cigarette and they pass it back and forth until it’s burned down to a stub. Richie flicks it off the roof and watches it land on the pavement, and then turns to face Bill.

“Let’s go to a gay bar.”

Bill almost chokes on his own spit.

“Wh- _what_?” He croaks out.

“Yeah!” Richie exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. Bill braces himself for the erratic flow of words that’s bound to follow; he’s known Richie long enough to recognize when he gets way too hyped about something.

“We should totally go to a gay bar in Portland!” He continues. “You know? Fuck everyone else. Just have some fucking fun without constantly being scared of the consequences.”

“B-b-but – ” Bill stutters. Fuck, why is this even making him nervous? They’re not going. They can’t. “But you have to b-be twenty-one to get in.”

“Fake IDs! We both have them, so we might as well put some use to them.”

“R-richie, we’re sixteen. We’re w-way t-too young to get away with f-fake IDs.”

“Come on, have you seen me? I’m taller than my dad. You aren’t far behind. We’ll just dress appropriately and not draw too much attention.”

“W-we can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because – b-bec-cause – ”

Richie nudges him.

“Just spit it out, B-b-bill,” he says with a smile. Bill shoves him, maybe a bit harder than intended but not hard enough for Richie to take offense to it.

“Because it’s sc-scary, alright!” Bill manages to say. “It’s sc-scary. Wh-what if we get c-caught? Or we r-run into someone we know? I’m already g-getting shoved a-against lockers, Richie. And they d-don’t even have proof about a-a-anything. What if s-someone sees u-us and tells B-b-bowers? We’d be d-d-dead as s-soon as he gets his h-hands on us.”

Richie’s expression softens.

“Hey, calm down, alright? If we run into someone we know, I’m sure they’d want us to keep quiet just as much as we want them to. I promise it’ll be fun. We can invite Beverly. Make a little trip out of it. You deserve to be surrounded by people just like you, Bill.”

Bill is quiet. His mind is all over the place again, just like it just to be. His fingers itch for his journal so he can write everything down and get some peace in his head, but alas.

“I-I don’t know, R-rich,” he says softly.

Richie knocks their shoulders together.

“Come on,” he says, voice gentle. “Have you ever even kissed a boy? Because it’s pretty damn amazing. I’m sure you’ll like it too.”

“You th-think I’ll kiss a boy in Portland?” Bill asks.

“I don’t know,” Richie replies, “but it’s worth the shot, isn’t it?”

Bill can’t believe he’s actually considering this. What the fuck are they even thinking? Two sixteen year olds and a seventeen year old roadtripping to Portland, getting into a gay bar and like… drink? Make out with people? What do people even do at gay bars?

And then he realizes it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what goes down in gay bars – it matters that it would be a safe place for Bill to explore something he was forced to hide for so long. To finally be himself and be unapologetic about it. And maybe he does want to kiss a boy. Who cares if he does? Richie doesn’t seem to care, and Bev surely won’t care either.

He exhales deeply.

“F-fine,” he says. “But only if Beverly agrees to d-drive us!”

“Yes!!” Richie exclaims, throwing his fists up in the air. “I’ll ask her later tonight. This is gonna be so fucking great!” He leaps to his feet, presses a kiss to the top of Bill’s head and heads back to Bill’s bedroom window.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s get back downstairs before they start thinking we’re hooking up.”

“Pffsh,” Bill huffs as he gets to his feet as well, “I still have some standards, Tozier.”

Richie flips him off, but he’s still grinning.

***

Surprisingly enough, it doesn’t take a lot of convincing for Beverly to agree to take them to Portland. Her only condition is that she gets to dress them appropriately, which neither Bill nor Richie minds.

She dresses both of them in a pair of ripped jeans with a black shirt, finishing the look with a graphic jacket. She herself wears her high waisted jeans and leather jacket to Portland.

“Oh, and remember,” she says as she switches lanes, “no drinking. I will not drive your drunk asses home and explain to your parents how the fuck you can get drunk on a supervised camping trip.” Ah yes, their cover-up. Bill had thought it was a stupid cover-up because nobody would believe Beverly’s aunt _only_ invited Richie and Bill to a camping trip over the weekend instead of the entire gang, but they rolled with it anyway.

“Yes, mom,” Richie says, rolling his eyes at Bill.

“And no going home with anyone!” Beverly adds. “Even if you meet the cutest guy ever and want to take him right then and there, you don’t go home with him.”

“Okay, Jesus, we get it. No fun allowed.”

“Richie…”

“I’m kidding! We won’t go home with anyone, alright? And neither will you. Not even if you meet the cutest girl ever.”

Beverly nods. “I swear.”

Richie mutters something about already regretting inviting their mom friend, but Bill is too focused on the road to really pay attention. His anxiety grows with every mile they get closer to Portland. His hands have been sweaty for the past hour and his throat is so dry he can’t even swallow. He almost asks Beverly to turn the car around four times before they get to the center of Portland, but he also knows how much Richie is looking forward to this. He can’t ruin it for him.

Once they get into Portland, they drive around the streets until they find the address of a gay bar called _Jungle_. There are people smoking outside; some really look exactly like the people Bill would expect at a gay bar but others look like they could be his neighbors or teachers or even friends.

“Hey, is that Mr. Brown over there?” Richie asks, pointing at someone leaning against the wall. Bill ducks immediately.

“Where?” He hisses. Richie bursts into laughter.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

“That’s n-not funny, Richard!” Bill yells. He slaps him on the arm, and Richie retaliates by slapping him on the shoulder.

“Okay, I’m gonna park here,” Beverly announces, ignoring the bickering coming from the backseat. She puts the car in a parking spot and gets out, waiting for the boys to get out too before locking up.

The three of them walk back to _Jungle_ , where they get in line to get in. Bill’s nerves are almost unbearable now. The excitement mixed with fear and anticipation makes him feel a bit lightheaded.

“Don’t forget to drop your voice a bit once you’re at the bouncer,” Richie reminds him. “It’ll make you sound more mature.”

Bill nods, unable to form any words. He stares at the person in front of him, who has the biggest head of curls he’s ever seen. They’re holding the hand of the person standing next to them, whose head is shaven. Bill honestly can’t tell if they’re both men, both women, a man and a woman or neither. He figures that also doesn’t matter.

The wait in line seems endless and not long enough at the same time. It’s his turn before he knows it.

The bouncer takes one look at him and immediately asks for his ID.

Bill’s hands shake as he digs up his ID from his wallet. The bouncer must notice, but he doesn’t say anything about it when he takes the ID from him.

The seconds it takes for the bouncer to determine whether Bill is old enough to enter are the longest seconds of his life.

“How old did you say you are again?” The bouncer asks. Shit.

“Tw-tw-twenty one, s-s-sir,” Bill stutters. His stutter hasn’t been this bad since he was thirteen.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t believe you really are.”

“B-b-but it says s-s-so right th-there.” Bill points at the ID the bouncer is still holding.

“B-b-b-but – ” The bouncer repeats mockingly. “Get lost, kid. Back to mommy you go.”

“B – ”

“I’m sorry, are you not understanding me? Y-y-you’re u-underage, k-k-kid. G-go h-home.”

“Hey,” Richie interrupts, pushing past Bill to point a finger at the bouncer. “Don’t talk to him like that.”

“Oh, so you’re with this retard? Well, get him out of h- ” But before he can even finish his sentence, Richie has already punched him in the face.

“Don’t call him that!” He yells. He wants to hit the bouncer again, but he catches Richie’s fist in his hand and gives him a calculated punch on the nose.

“Ah, fuck, you motherfu- ”

“Get out of my line before I call the cops,” the bouncer demands. Bill grabs Richie by his arm before he can do any more damage to himself.

“C-c-come on, R-Richie. Let’s g-g-g-o.”

“Yeah, listen to your f-f-friend,” the bouncer purrs. Richie almost flings himself at him again, but Beverly quickly grabs his other arm and drags him with her.

“Fuck you, asshole!” Richie yells over his shoulder. The bouncer looks as unbothered as ever.

They walks around the corner and then sit Richie down on the curb. He cups his nose and curses under his breath.

“Here,” Beverly says, digging some tissues out of her purse. “Use these while I go find some ice. Stay. Here.”

“Where the fuck do you think I’m going when I’m bleeding out?” Richie mutters. He takes the tissues and presses them to his nose.

“Glad that bouncer didn’t knock your flair for the dramatic out of you,” Bev mutters. Richie grumbles but shuts up.

“I’ll be right back,” Beverly tells Bill, and then she’s gone.

“I’m sorry I ruined your plan,” Bill says once Beverly has rounded the corner. Of _fucking_ course his stutter is nowhere to be seen now.

Richie looks at him. The bridge of his glasses is cracked.

“It wasn’t your fault. That bouncer was a fucking dick.”

Bill chuckles. “Yeah, he kind of was. Thanks for standing up for me.”

“Always,” Richie says. “You know that.”

He does. Richie would start wars for Bill if necessary. Bill would most definitely do the same for him.

“I guess I’m not kissing anyone in Portland after all,” Bill jokes. Richie lowers the tissue he had pressed to his nose – at least it stopped bleeding – and bites his lip. Then, without any warning, he leans forward and presses his lips to Bill’s.

The kiss doesn’t last long enough for Bill to process what the fuck is happening. When his mind finally catches up (for the first time in his life, his mind is _too slow_ ) Richie has already pulled back.

“Why did you do that?” Is the only thing that crosses Bill’s mind to ask.

Richie shrugs casually. There’s not a trace of regret or embarrassment on his face.

“Now you got kissed by a boy in Portland,” he explains. “Sorry it had to be me, but it’s the best I could do on such short notice.”

“It – it was fine,” Bill says. Then, when Richie still looks like the kiss was no big deal and his muscles relax, he adds: “I’ve had better, though. Like Beverly.”

“That was in the play!” Richie replies, feigned hurt in his voice. “And she’s a lesbian!”

“Yeah, well. You’re covered in blood and smell like cigarettes, so.”

Richie shoves him.

“You’re such a dick. I regret getting my pretty face bashed in for you.”

“I personally think it’s an improvement.”

“I’ll kick your ass, Denbrough!”

Richie slaps him again, and then Bill punches him on the shoulder, and then Richie hits him on the back of his head. They fight like that, all while bickering and making kissing noises at each other, until Beverly comes back with some ice and a hotdog.

“Did I miss anything while I was gone?” She asks as she hands Richie the ice. It’s an innocent question, one she probably isn’t expecting an answer to, but Bill and Richie share a look and burst out laughing.

And honestly, even if their plan failed, Bill still got to kiss a boy in Portland, and he’s here with two of his best friends, out and proud and not afraid of the consequences, and it’s good.

It’s really fucking good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I never clarified this in his chapter, but I hc Bill as panromantic demisexual. As for Richie.... I don't fucking know, I keep going back and forth between gay and bi. Thoughts?


	5. Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The silence in their small tent is deafening. Mike wishes Ben would say something, anything at all, even if it’s a rejection. Silence is worse than anything Ben could tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something really therapeutic about writing about an attractive, athletic jock being absolutely and totally in love with the fat kid. Mike/Ben is such a good concept and I love them so much together.

Mike prides himself in very few things. His father always used to tell him pride never got anyone anywhere and that it was better for him to work hard and be grateful than to be too proud. _Pride can be taken away from you_ , his father always said. _They can beat you and hurt you and humiliate you until there’s nothing left of it._ His father didn’t like things that could be taken away from you. Integrity, and honesty; those were the things nobody could take away.

So, there are only a couple of things Mike is really proud of. Being the youngest star quarterback in the history of Derry High is one thing. His great memory is another. He can memorize dates and events by just reading them once, which has come in quite handy during all his History tests. He remembers the name of every person he’s ever met, still remembers the voice of his private tutor when he was still homeschooled, remembers the smell of the first meal he had ever eaten in public school.

And he remembers the kiss.

Ben must think he doesn’t. He must’ve thought Mike was drunk on sleep that night, that he had kissed him in a state of mind that floated right out of their plane of existence. That it had fled his mind when Mike had woken up the next day. But he remembers it just as clearly as on that night two years ago. He remembers how flustered Ben was, how soft his lips were.

He still doesn’t know why he did it, though. Sure, he had thought about kissing Ben before that night. A lot, actually. It was one of his favorite things to think about; imagining the pressure, how Ben would taste, if he would cup Mike’s cheeks or wrap his arms around his neck or hold him by his waist. Whenever Ben’s lips curved into a smile, Mike would think about what it would be like to feel that smile on his lips. But he never thought about actually _doing_ it. Much like you sometimes dream of throwing yourself down a flight of stairs right before a test, but you never actually do it.

Well, Ben was Mike’s flight of stairs right before a test, and he had thrown himself off them so hard it knocked the breath out of his lungs.

Kissing Ben had been the scariest thing he had ever done. He had hoped that the kiss would give him enough courage to confess his feelings for him right after, but then the kiss ended and Ben didn’t say anything and Mike didn’t say anything and the courage didn’t come and then he just. Turned onto his back. And eventually pretended to have fallen asleep.

He had planned on telling Ben he liked him like that the next day. But Ben seemed like he was avoiding him, and Mike didn’t want to force himself onto him, and the moment to confess his feelings came and went and Mike never found a good moment to do it after that.

So he just kind of tried to bury his feelings. Ben didn’t make it easy; he was just as sweet and kind and funny and caring as he always was. He helped him with his math homework (no matter how good his memory was, it didn’t help him with stupid math), brought him an extra lunch because he knew Mike tended to not bring one (out of carelessness, mostly, to which Ben would always scold him because _he was the damn quarterback, for fuck sake, you need to eat_ ), came to cheer at all his games. No matter who he drew during Secret Santa, Ben always bought Mike a gift too (Richie would look between them funnily, as if he knew something Mike didn’t, but Richie was always doing weird shit so Mike didn’t really care). And while he did all those incredibly sweet, kind things, Ben had no idea what it did to Mike’s heart.

Two years. Two years have passed since the kiss, and Mike still regrets not telling Ben how he felt about him. The losers are all seventeen now (except Beverly, who’s eighteen) and they all kind of got bored of wasting their summer away at the quarry or the Barrens. So they had all decided to go on a camping trip together, which means sharing tents, which means Mike and Ben will most likely have to share one (Richie always ‘claims’ Eddie whenever they have to pair up for anything and Stan and Bill have been inseparable for years now, so they’re really the only combination left since Beverly doesn’t share anything with any of the boys), which means being close to him in the dark all alone. Kind of like that night Mike had kissed him. They hadn’t really been that close to one another since then, but sleeping in a tiny tent would kind of force them to.

He thinks about that as they make the drive to the nearest camping spot in the woods. The trunk of Bill’s car is packed with all their stuff and some of it had to be put in the backseat because it didn’t fit anymore, so Ben, Mike, Richie and Eddie are all squeezed closely together to fit while Stan, Beverly and Bill are sitting in the frontseat of his car. Eddie is almost completely positioned on Richie’s lap and looks semi-uncomfortable, but Richie doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

Mike is painfully aware of the proximity of Ben. He always is, but it seems extra obvious in the packed car. Their arms are pressed together, as are their thighs and knees, and whenever Ben shifts in the slightest it feels like electricity runs through Mike’s body. His stomach keeps twisting itself in knots when Ben brushes his hand against Mike’s knee or when he knocks their shoulders together when they hit a bump in the road. Mike wants this ride to be over as soon as possible and he doesn’t want it to end at all at the same time.

Eddie basically falls out of the car when they finally reach the campsite. He groans and stretches, some of his joints cracking in protest. Mike doesn’t miss the way Richie’s eyes slide over Eddie’s exposed abdomen, and he raises his eyebrows. Could Richie be…? He quickly tells himself that it doesn’t matter and that it isn’t his business anyway and walks around the car to help Ben with their stuff.

“So, tent buds?” Ben asks him as he hands him the cooler. Richie managed to sneak some beer and wine out of the house, which was easy according to him since his parents never pay attention to him anyway, and Beverly got some weed off someone Mike doesn’t want to know the name of, so they’re planning on making this trip memorable. Or not, depending on their alcohol consumption.

“Hell yeah,” Mike grins, pushing his stupid feelings down. He always gets the urge to giggle or blush or whatever when Ben talks to him, but he’s become quite good at pushing those urges down and locking them up.

He helps Ben with setting up their tent, which basically means _he_ sets up the tent while Ben pretends to know what the fuck he’s doing. Ben has always been a bit clumsy; the amount of times Mike caught him tripping over his own feet and pretending like nothing happened can’t be counted on two hands. It’s part of his charm, which makes it all the more difficult for Mike to be around him and not be with him in the way he wants to.

They take out the food once all tents are in place. Eddie is moody because Richie is already making a mess of their tent, but his complaints quickly fade away once Beverly throws some burgers on the grill and makes everyone her famous burgers with special sauce.

“God, what is _in_ these burgers?” Richie moans around a big bite, sauce dripping from his chin. Stan looks at him in slight disgust, but that’s just his general expression around Richie.

“I spit in them,” Beverly shrugs casually. Eddie almost chokes and spits the burger out, but Richie just bursts out laughing.

“You didn’t actually, right?” Ben wants to know. He takes the top bun off and examines the meat, as if Bev’s spit is just gonna lie there.

Beverly rolls her eyes. “Of course I didn’t. I’m a _chef_ , Benjamin. I would never.”

Eddie isn’t so convinced. He gives his burger to Richie and reaches for the potato chips instead.

Mike looks around the group as they eat. To be honest, he had never thought they’d still all be friends by now. They’re just so different from one another. The only thing that really brought them together was Bowers hunting them like cattle in the summer of ‘89 and they figured they’d be stronger in a group. Who would’ve guessed that four years later, they’d still all be friends?

He’s grateful that they are, though. Life is a lot less lonely surrounded by people who care about you, a lot easier to deal with. And he has a friend for all aspects of his personality: Stan is his fellow jock friend, someone to run track with and talk about sports to; Bill is the friend he goes to when he needs someone to listen to him or to comfort him; Richie is the friend he goes to when he needs a good laugh; Eddie is the one he goes to when he needs someone who’ll take him and his concerns seriously; Bev is the friend he goes to if he needs someone to talk to. And Ben… Ben is all his friends combined and someone he wants to be more than friends with.

Bill snaps him out of his thoughts when he goes around the circle to collect their plates. He raises an eyebrow at Mike when he startles, but Mike just smiles sheepishly and offers him his plate.

Stan brings out some beer while Beverly takes out her stash of weed. Bill, Mike and Beverly opt for the weed while Richie, Stan and Ben go for the beer. Eddie doesn’t touch either.

They talk about the most random shit for the next few hours. They’re really good at that. Even though they see each other every single day, they always find new stuff to talk about. Ben, of course, brings up how the moonlanding was fake and they all engage in a discussion about whether or not NASA staged the entire thing.

They move from conspiracy theories to truth or dare when they get more intoxicated. Of course nobody really cares about the truth part, which results in dares in varying degrees of inappropriateness. Stan is dared to whip out his dick - by Richie, of course - to which Bill dares Richie to strip down naked and finish the game like that, to which Beverly pretends to throw up, to which Richie throws his underwear in her face.

“What the fuck, _Richard_!” Beverly screeches, yanking the underwear away and throwing it back at him. “That’s disgusting!”

Richie does a little seated bow, not bothered in the slightest about his nudity. Of course he isn’t.

“Okay, my turn again,” he declares. “Mike, truth or dare?”

Mike isn’t really in the mood to whip out his dick, which will probably be his dare if it’s up to Richie, so he chooses truth instead.

“Who was your best kiss? And I need names, Hanlon.”

Oh, crap. Mike hasn’t kissed anyone since Ben. And he can’t just say he kissed him because that would be unfair to Ben and he also doesn’t want to out himself just yet. So he shrugs and says, “I haven’t kissed anyone yet.”

Maybe he imagines it, but he thinks he can feel Ben freeze next to him.

“Oh, come on,” Richie huffs, “you’re a star athlete and incredibly hot and you expect us to believe you have never smooched anyone?”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m hot?”

“That’s completely and entirely besides the point,” Richie says quickly. A pink blush rises on his cheeks. Huh. “The point is that you’re supposed to be honest and I think you’re lying.”

Mike bites his lip. Richie won’t be satisfied until he gets some details and he can’t give him the truth, so he fabricates a quick lie instead.

“Okay, fine, you got me,” Mike says, putting his hands up in surrender. “I kissed Lila Mason during homecoming last year.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Richie breathes. “She was a senior! You got it on with a senior?”

Mike grins. He’s pretty good at acting - another thing to be proud of.

“What can I say, the ladies love quarterbacks.”

“Sick! What a great first kiss to have.”

“Yeah,” Ben says flatly as he rises to his feet. “Great. I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Already?” Bill asks. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, everything’s perfect,” Ben says, too cheerful for Mike to believe him. “I’m just a bit tired.”

“Well, alright. Goodnight,” Bill smiles. The others wish him goodnight too and Ben offers them all a small smile before walking off to his tent.

Nobody else seems to notice, but Mike knows Ben is upset.

***

The others start leaving to their tents too a couple of hours later. Stan had already drifted off, head resting on Bill’s shoulder, and Bill has to shake him severely before he wakes up. He even has to support him on the way to their tent because Stan is too sleepy to walk on his own.

Mike and Beverly are the last ones lying around the bonfire. They pass a joint back and forth, both pretty high, and look up at the starry night sky.

“You believe in aliens?” Bev asks.

Mike takes a drag. “I think the better question is if aliens believe in us.”

That makes Beverly giggle, which makes Mike giggle too. Soon enough, they both have the giggles.

“Shh!!” Bev tries to shush him. “Everyone is asleep!”

Mike giggles even louder and Beverly has to cover his mouth to make him stop. Tears are streaming down their faces and Mike’s stomach hurts, but their giggles eventually calm down until they’re both quiet.

“I kissed Ben,” Mike suddenly blurts. He hadn’t meant to say that, but his mouth doesn’t seem to be cooperating with his mind.

Bev turns her head to the side to look at him. “When?”

“Couple of years ago. I just kissed him - didn’t even say anything after. And I never mentioned it again.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because I liked him.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Because I like him.”

“Does he like you back?”

“I don’t know. He never mentioned the kiss again either.”

Beverly blinks at him slowly. She’s still really high, but Mike feels surprisingly sober.

“I think you should talk to him,” she eventually says.

“But I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“I don’t think you’d ruin it.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Bev shakes her head. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I think he likes you just as much as you like him.”

Something tightens in Mike’s chest. Could it… Could his feelings for Ben be mutual?

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Beverly nudges him. “Go talk to him!”

Mike sits up. This suddenly feels like a now-or-never situation. He has to be honest about his feelings. He jumps to his feet, thanks Beverly and makes his way to his tent.

Ben has his back turned to him when he comes in, but Mike knows he’s still awake. You learn to recognize someone’s sleeping manners when you sleep over a lot, and Ben is a snorer. Since he isn’t snoring right now, Mike figures he’s still awake.

“Ben?” He whispers, gently shaking him. “Ben, I need to talk to you.”

Ben doesn’t respond. Mike sighs.

“I know you’re awake, Ben.”

Ben is quiet for another heartbeat and then turns onto his back. “What?”

Mike chews his lip. He doesn’t know where to start or what to say - had never imagined that he would ever confess his feelings for Ben. He desperately searches for the right words, but when they don’t come, he just goes with the true words.

“I remember the kiss.”

Ben raises his eyebrows and sits up, but doesn’t say anything. So Mike continues, “I’m sorry I never explained or brought it up again. That wasn’t cool. But I - I was scared, I guess. Of how you would react.” He looks away. “Of rejection.”

“Of rejection?” Ben echoes.

“Yeah. Because I… I’m…” The words stick to the roof of his mouth. His hands are shaking and he balls them into fists, but the anxiety doesn’t go away. “Because I’m in love with you.”

The silence in their small tent is deafening. Mike wishes Ben would say something, anything at all, even if it’s a rejection. Silence is worse than anything Ben could tell him.

But Ben doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans forward and presses his lips to Mike’s.

Mike’s initial reaction is to pull back, but then he realizes Ben is kissing him, something he had wanted for literal years, and so he kisses back. His fingers grip into Ben’s hair as he pushes his mouth firmer on his, prying his lips open to slip in his tongue.

Ben makes a soft sound at the back of his throat and falls back onto his sleeping bag, pulling Mike with him. He even lets his fingers slip underneath the hem of Mike’s shirt, grazing his fingertips over his back.

The kiss seems to last forever. Mike kisses him again and again and again, pushing and pulling and dragging his teeth over Ben’s bottom lip and letting his hands wander. Then, when it feels like days or weeks or years have passed outside of their tent, Mike finally pulls back.

“So,” he says, trying to catch his breath, “does that mean you like me back?”

Ben’s cheeks are flushed and his pupils are blown, but he still manages to roll his eyes.

“You know, for a smart guy you can be pretty stupid,” he says, and then he kisses him again.

Mike takes that as a yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I again didn't clarify this in the chapter, but I hc Mike as omnisexual!


	6. Making monsters your friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Stan is six, a monster starts growing in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lo, because Stan is her son whom she birthed and raised herself

When Stan is six, a monster starts growing in his chest.

It starts like all things do: small and innocent. It slumbers for most of his childhood, only peeking its ugly head out when Stan is least expecting it. It nudges him when Eddie smiles at him or brushes his hand against Stan’s. It pokes him when Bill stutters his name, voice all warm and soft and caring. Whenever Stan tries to urge the monster back down, it just slaps his hand away and yells louder.

The monster waxes poetic about all things forbidden. When Stan is six, it starts with Richie. _Richie,_ out of all people. But Stan starts noticing that Richie is kind of cute with his big glasses and funny jokes. The monster tries to make him laugh at them, but Stan’s rebellion lies in silence. He presses his lips firmly together and does not react to Richie’s comments, even when the monster wants him to.

It resurfaces when Stan is nine. It had been quiet for some time, letting Stan enjoy his friendship with Richie without ruining it. But when he’s nine, the monster starts screaming to him about his Math teacher, Mr. Van Daal. The monster makes Stan write letters in the middle of the night, so embarrassing and personal and _wrong_ Stan hides them away and never takes them out again. If anyone were to ever find them, Stan would surely be disowned and kicked out. But the monster doesn’t care. It feeds off Stan’s fear and sin, and it only grows stronger and bigger with every passing year.

The monster is an almost permanent guest by the time Stan turns eleven. It makes him look at boys when he’s sure nobody will see, it makes his heart race when Bill wants to work together on a project and it makes his cheeks flush when Eddie compliments his shirt. Stan begs it to stop, but the monster just laughs.

It only gets worse once Stan starts puberty. Now the monster doesn’t only haunt him during the day, it’s also constantly around during the night. It walks his dreams and corrupts everything with its sinful fingers. Stan wakes, bathing in sweat and a boy’s lips on his mind, every single morning. He scrubs himself in the shower until his skin bleeds, washes his hands every time he touches a boy, but he still feels dirty. No soap in the world can quiet the monster.

The monster basically throws itself a party when Ben and Mike join their group. Stan had hoped it would be just as happy with Beverly, but the monster pays no attention to her. It only wants the boys. It’s delighted with Mike’s bright, rare smile and Ben’s sparking eyes and clever mind. The monster makes Stan dream of them just like he dreams of Eddie and Richie and especially Bill.

Stan breaks his arm in 1992. He blames the monster for it just like he blames it for everything else going wrong in his life. The monster made him follow Jack King with his eyes as he crossed the street. The monster made him crane his neck to get a good look at Jack’s toned back, the curve of his ass. The monster made him not pay attention to the road, to the approaching car, and yeah. The monster broke Stan’s arm.

Eddie is at his house with a black and red marker within two hours of Stan getting home from the hospital. He greets his mother with his best innocent smile and then immediately makes his way to Stan’s room, where Stan is feeling sorry for himself and cursing his monster for making him get hit by a car like that.

“Hey, idiot,” Eddie greets. Stan lifts his head and groans in response.

“Jeez,” Eddie says. “You only broke your arm, Stanley. Not your vocal cords.”

“What do you want, Kaspbrak?”

“Oh, it speaks!” Eddie grins. He plops onto Stan’s bed and holds up the markers. “C’mere, Stanny boy.”

“No.”

“Come on, it’s a loser tradition!”

“It can’t be a tradition if it only happened once, Eddie,” Stan says.

“That’s why you need to do it too! Then it’ll be kind of a tradition.”

“How many losers do you want to break their arm for you to sign it?”

Eddie shrugs. “All of them, preferably. I’m hopeful about Richie because he’s always pulling weird shit and getting himself in trouble, and surely Mike will break something during football practice. And if they don’t, I’m ready to break their arms myself.”

“Jesus, Eddie. Are you okay? Like, psychologically.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and stomps him. “That was a joke. But I _am_ pretty sure Richie is gonna break his arm somewhere in the following years, and when he does, I’ll be there to write _LOSER_ on his cast. And you know what? He’ll agree to it because he’s a _good friend_.”

Stan groans exasperated.

“Fine,” he gives in. Eddie grins widely and gently takes Stan’s arm. He puts it on his lap and covers Stan’s exposed fingers with his hand to hold them still. The monster in Stan’s chest stirs, awoken by Eddie’s touch, and Stan’s heart pounds.

Eddie is quiet as he writes _LOSER_ with the black marker. Stan watches him intently, noticing how Eddie pokes out his tongue a little in concentration. Fuck. Fuck, he’s fucking adorable.

“Voila,” Eddie says when he’s done. He puts the black marker aside and uncaps the red one, once again covering Stan’s fingers with his warm hand to keep them still. Eddie doesn’t like touching people, but somehow he never had a problem with touching Stan. Probably because Stan himself is borderline germaphobic and keeps himself clean at all times, which Eddie appreciates.

Eddie draws a big, fat V over the S in _LOSER,_ just like he did to himself a couple of years ago when he broke his arm when they went exploring in an abandoned house. Stan is painfully aware of how his hand is resting on Eddie’s leg and how easy it would be for him to just move his thumb a little to caress his knee. Or how easy it would be to flip his hand and intertwine his fingers with Eddie’s.

 _Do it,_ the monster insists. Stan ignores it.

“There you go,” Eddie proclaims proudly once he has colored the V. “Just like mine.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” Stan says. His voice sounds small and defeated.

“Is everything okay?” Eddie asks. His eyebrows knit together in worry, and Stan hates himself for thinking it’s cute.

“Fine. They just gave me some painkillers at the hospital and I’m getting tired, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll let you rest.” Eddie stands and pats Stan’s head to say goodbye.

“I’ll come around tomorrow with your homework, alright?” He asks before leaving Stan’s room.

“Alright, see you then,” Stan replies flatly.

He waits for Eddie’s footsteps to recede and the front door to shut before exhaling deeply.

The monster in his chest begs Eddie to _stay, stay, stay_ , but Stan wills it down and ignores its voice banging through his skull.

***

All losers visit Stan at home during the two weeks the doctor told him to rest, but Bill visits him the most. The two of them aren’t used to being separated for that long, so Stan is grateful for his visits.

Bill keeps him updated about everything school-related. Stan isn’t interested in the latest gossip, but Bill tells him anyway. Stan secretly accuses Bill of trying a new psychological warfare technique on him with the endless stream of gossip that comes out of his mouth whenever he comes over, but he’s too happy to hang out with him to really comment on it.

Bill made him pancakes this time. He always tries to bring a snack for them to eat while they do their homework or watch some TV, but he’d come straight from school today so he hadn’t gotten the chance to raid his fridge at home. Stan told him it was fine, but Bill insisted on making him something instead.

They eat the treats in front of the TV. Stan’s monster comments on how close they’re sitting together, touching from shoulder to knee, and Stan immediately puts some distance between them. He tries to disguise it as repositioning himself on the couch, but Bill looks at him weirdly.

“Can I ask you something?” He suddenly asks. He puts his plate on the coffee table and looks at Stan.

“Uh, sure?” Stan replies. He sits up straight and raises his eyebrows.

“You’ve heard about what happened in the locker room, right?”

He did. Richie told him.

Stan nods.

“And you’ve heard the rumors?”

Stan nods again. None of the losers had told him because they didn’t like spreading rumors, especially not about Bill, but word travels fast in Derry. His parents had already sat him down and told him that if they ever found those rumors to be true, he wouldn’t be allowed to see Bill again. They had said other stuff too, about it being unnatural and wrong, but Stan had been too busy wondering if Bill’s monster sounded the same as his to really pay attention.

“Okay, so…” Bill continues. He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself for impact, and blurts, “do y-you have a pr-problem with it?”

Stan is taken aback by that question.

“A problem?” He repeats.

“Yeah,” Bill nods. He can’t look him in the eye. “If th-they were true, w-would you have a p-problem with it?”

“Wh - of course not!” Stan says quickly. “I don’t have a problem with Beverly, so why would I have a problem with you?”

Bill shakes his head. “It’s d-different with Bev. You’ve known m-me for almost our entire lives. You gr-grew up with me. It’s n-not the same.”

There are tears in the corners of Bill’s eyes. Stan’s heart breaks for him.

“Bill,” he says softly as he takes Bill’s hands in his own. Stan, much like Eddie, doesn’t like touching people, but he’s known for a very long time that touch always comforts Bill. “ _Billy_ . I wouldn’t care. Okay? I really wouldn’t. You’re my best friend. No matter what happens, that will never change. You’re my _best friend_.”

That seems to help a little. Bill takes a shaky breath and nods, squeezing Stan’s good hand. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Stan knows the rumors are true. And he doesn’t care.

If anything, it makes the monster in him wonder. It had always been interested in Bill. It had made Stan’s heart hammer in his throat because of Bill, had made him dream about Bill and had made him lose his appetite over Bill. And now that Stan knows Bill has a monster of his own making him do and feel all those things, it makes Stan wonder what it would be like to kiss him. To feel his skin against his own, Bill’s arms wrapped around his torso. They aren’t new thoughts, exactly, but they had always been fleeting. Somehow, knowing that Bill likes boys makes the thoughts more prominent.

The monster in his chest grows more powerful the longer they sit like that, holding hands. It makes Stan aware of how warm Bill’s hand is and how close his lips. His blood rushes loudly in his ears and his heart is hammering. The monster is chanting for him to just give in, just make a move. _He likes boys, it’s okay. You’re okay. Do it._

But just because Bill likes boys doesn’t mean he likes _him_ , Stan tells himself. And just because Bill likes boys doesn’t mean he wants to kiss one already. Stan himself isn’t even sure he wants to kiss a boy. Ever. He’s afraid that if he does, the monster in his chest will finally break its way through and completely overpower him.

So he doesn’t. They sit there for a bit longer, and then Bill leans back with a sigh and focuses his attention back on the TV, and that’s that.

The monster is screaming at him again, but Stan is so used to it by now he barely even hears it anymore.

***

By the time Stan turns eighteen, the monster in his chest has grown so much it’s almost its own person by now. It has sunk its teeth in Bill Denbrough and constantly plagues his mind with him. With thoughts about him, images of him, things that remind it of him. Stan can’t even eat a fucking pancake in peace anymore without his monster linking it back to Bill.

It’s undeniable now. He tried to fight it for so long, but his monster won.

Stan is in love with Bill.

The worst thing about this realization is the fact that it comes so late. It’s the summer of ‘94 and all of them will be going off to college in the next few weeks. Bill is still juggling some colleges but he’s gotten into all the ones he applied for, so he won’t have any trouble finding one. Stan has gotten into a few too, only one of which Bill also applied to. The chances of them going to the same college are slim, and the chances of them seeing each other regularly are even slimmer.

Stan thinks about this as the losers all pack into the Denbrough’s mini van on a morning early August. Beverly got accepted into the University of Georgia and is going earlier to get to know the area and the other freshmen, so the losers decided to drive her.

“Ben, did you pack snacks?” Bill asks, looking in his rearview mirror. The van is big enough for Mike and Ben to sit all the way in the back and Eddie, Richie and Beverly in the middle. Stan is sitting in the passenger’s seat next to Bill.

“Yup!” Ben nods, holding up a bag stuffed with sandwiches, chips, nuts and more.

“Okay, Bev, do you have the wallet?”

“I do,” Beverly says. She’s in charge of all the money to rent a couple of motel rooms in New York and buy dinner because she’s the most sensible out of the bunch. That fact alone makes it hard for Stan to comprehend why Richie and Bev grew so close the last couple of years, but he guesses opposites attract. Richie had even loudly claimed Beverly before they got into the van so that she could sit next to him. He’d also claimed Eddie, but Richie always claims Eddie.

“Cool, then I think we’re ready to go.” Bill starts the engine, checks his mirrors and drives off the driveway. “Stan, music, please?”

Stan pulls out a mixtape and hands it to Bill. Their fingers touch for the briefest moment, but it’s still long enough for Stan’s heart to react to it.

“You made a roadtrip mixtape?” Richie asks.

“Hell yeah, he did,” Bill replies with a big smile. He looks at Stan with nothing but warmth in his eyes, and Stan forgets how to breathe for a second. “Stan makes the best mixtapes. He made me a couple and they’re my most precious possession.”

“You never make me mixtapes,” Richie huffs.

“That’s because Stan loves me more,” Bill grins.

“No, he doesn’t,” Richie says.

“Yeah, he does,” Bill says.

“Yeah, I do,” Stan agrees.

“Fine. You’re hereby off my will, Stanley. All my most precious possessions are going to Eds.”

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie says, almost instinctively. And then, “and I don’t want your comic books and porn magazines.”

“I do,” Bev shrugs. “Especially the porn magazines. I have a serious lack of hot girl content in my possession.”

“See, this is why Beverly is my favorite,” Richie grins.

“Why would you want Richie’s porn magazines?” Mike butts in. “They probably have his jizz all over them.”

Beverly gags.

“Nevermind!” She says.

“Fuck off, Michael!” Richie snaps. He and Mike start an argument about jerking off to porn magazines while Beverly covers her ears, and that kind of sets the tone for the rest of the roadtrip.

***

They all take turns driving until the sun starts to set. Mike finds them a nice enough diner at the side of the road and parks the van like only Mike ‘ _I’ve known how to drive since I was eleven_ ’ Hanlon can. They all rush out of the van (Eddie and Richie because they drank too much soda and need to take a piss) and find a table in the diner big enough for them to sit at.

Stan doesn’t know how he does it, but he always ends up sitting next to Bill. It’s never a conscious decision, it just… happens.

They sit shoulder to shoulder, squeezed in the booth so Richie can sit next to Bill. Beverly takes a chair and sits at the head of the table while Mike, Ben and Eddie are squeezed together opposite of Bill.

They eat dinner while bickering over whether or not they’re going to a frat party in Georgia tomorrow night. Of course Stan and Eddie don’t want to go, but then Bill says it might be fun and that’s honestly enough to get Stan on board. Eddie eventually caves too after Richie bats his eyelashes excessively at him.

Bill drives them to a motel when they’re full, but when he tries renting four rooms (one for him and Stan, one for Richie and Eddie, one for Ben and Mike and one for Beverly), the receptionist tells him almost all of the rooms are occupied. She can only offer them two.

“We got two rooms with two singles each,” Bill announces to the others. “Which means we’ll have to share beds.”

“No way,” Eddie says. “I’m not sharing a bed with someone who replied “I don’t know, Monday, maybe?” when I asked him when he showered for the last time.”

“It was definitely Monday,” Richie nods. Eddie groans.

“Come on, guys,” Bill says. “I’ve seen the singles in this place. They’re pretty spacious. Stan and I and Mike and Ben will have to share too.”

“I can always ask Bev to share with me,” Richie shrugs. “She won’t mind.”

“Actually, I would,” Beverly says. “Sorry, Richie, but you’re way too tall for me to sleep comfortably. I like my bed partners smaller, you know? And a bit more feminine.”

“Why am I weirdly offended by that?” Richie wonders.

“Because you’re an idiot,” Eddie replies helpfully.

“Guys,” Mike jumps to Bill’s rescue. “It’s just for one night, come on. You can flip a coin to sleep on the couch if you want.”

“You know how many germs there are on motel couches?” Eddie asks.

“And how much semen?” Richie adds cheerfully. Eddie looks like he’ll fling himself at Richie’s throat, so Stan steps in too.

“Can we go? I’m fucking tired. Richie, Eddie, you guys sleep with Bill and me.”

“Damn, Uris, I didn’t know you were into me like that,” Richie teases. Stan glares at him. Richie mutters a quick apology before taking the key to one of the rooms from Bill and dragging Eddie with him.

“See you guys in the morning,” Bill says to Ben, Mike and Beverly. Beverly wishes them goodnight too and follows Mike and Ben to their room.

When Bill and Stan get into the room, they find Eddie spraying his bed with detergent. Richie is nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Richie?” Bill asks.

“In the bathroom,” Eddie says. “I threatened to rip out his pubes when he was sleeping if he didn’t go take a shower.”

“Classy,” Stan remarks. “It surprises me that you didn’t threaten to break his arm.”

Eddie smiles. “I’m keeping that for a special occasion.”

Bill waits patiently for Richie to be done in the bathroom so he can take a quick shower too. Stan tries to ignore the fact that Bill is sitting on their bed in only his underwear, but it’s hard to not notice how broad his shoulders have gotten this summer or how many freckles he has on his back. Stan’s fingers itch to trace them, to connect them like constellations.

 _Do it_ , the monster in his chest says.

Stan doesn’t.

***

Stan barely sleeps that night. The bed is small enough for Bill to constantly touch _some_ part of Stan’s body, and Stan’s skin feels like it’s on fire. At one point, when Stan is turned on his side facing the wall, Bill turns in his sleep and presses his chest to his back. Stan freezes when Bill also casually throws his arm over his waist, his long fingers resting right at the hem of Stan’s shirt. When Stan exhales, the tip of Bill’s fingers brush against his abdomen.

His monster keeps him company the entire night, filling his head with sinful thoughts. He tries to fight them, but his monster is full grown and louder than ever. It’s very easy for it to corrupt every inch of Stan’s mind.

When Bill wakes the next morning, his arm is still around Stan’s waist. He takes it away painfully slow, his fingers touching Stan’s bare side before disappearing from his skin.

“Good morning,” he yawns when he sees Stan is awake too.

“Morning,” Stan says, voice weak.

They get back into the routine of travelling after everyone has gathered in the small restaurant attached to the motel. They have breakfast, all still sleepy and quiet (especially Richie, who hates mornings almost as much as he hates not making ‘your mom’ jokes), and then file back into the van for the second part of their roadtrip.

Ben, Richie and Beverly play I Spy for a while until they get bored of it. Mike is in the back reading, his legs in Ben’s lap. Eddie just looks outside, eyes drooping every once in a while. Stan figures he didn’t sleep well either in that dirty bed.

Bill is, like usual, the sun itself. He’s cheerful and talkative, engaging Stan in a never ending conversation. Stan doesn’t mind talking to Bill; they can talk about anything for ages. Stan isn’t much of a talker, except for when Bill is around.

They finally make it to Georgia when the sun is setting again. Everyone is a bit grumpy because of the long drive, but Beverly takes them all out to a nice dinner and buys a bottle of white wine with her fake ID for them to share as they get ready for the frat party once they get to their motel.

Stan is nervous. He doesn’t know what to expect from frat parties, and not knowing things always make him nervous. Bill must notice, because he take him aside and asks if everything is okay.

“I’m just a bit nervous,” Stan says. “I don’t like new people.”

“I know,” Bill nods, and he does. Bill has witnessed enough of Stan’s anxiety attacks to know what triggers them. “If you get too overwhelmed, you just come to me, okay? I’ll come outside with you for a bit.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Bill smiles in return.

***

The frat party is… Well, it’s _something_ . There’s alcohol literally _everywhere_ , most people are half naked and there are already some guys passed out drunk on the couches. Stan suddenly feels incredibly young.

The losers stick together at first, but then Beverly splits up to go socialize with some other freshmen. Ben and Mike eventually go off on their own too, and Richie takes Eddie outside to get some fresh air. Stan doesn’t want to just follow Bill around like a puppy all night, so he forces himself to socialize too.

“Hey!” A girl calls to him in the kitchen. Her top doesn’t reach her belly button and her heels are so high Stan is afraid she’s gonna snap her ankle. “You must be new here.”

“Uh… I guess?” Stan replies. He takes a step back when the girl wants to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Thought so! I would remember a cute face like yours. Can I offer you a drink?”

“No, th - ” But before he can decline, the girl has already shoved a red cup with an unidentified liquid in it in his hand.

“Here, take mine! It’s vodka mixed with some other stuff, I guess. Not sure what’s in it. Brad made it. But Brad is like, crazy good at mixing drinks, so I’m sure you’ll like it!”

“Th- thanks?” Stan says.

“You’re welcome!” The girl smiles. “I’m Amber, by the way. You should come find me later, if you want.”

Why in the world would Stan want that.

“Sure,” he says, just to get rid of her. Amber winks at him and walks off, leaving him alone in the kitchen.

Stan nurses his drink for a while. He doesn’t like hard liquor, but at least it gives him something to do. Eventually, when most of the drink is gone, he makes his way back to the living room to find Bill. Walking is a bit harder than it usually is and his mind is a bit clouded, but it isn’t as bad as he had expected.

He finds Bill talking to some college guy. Bill looks… in awe with him. His eyes are big, pupils blown, and he’s constantly laughing and smiling. The monster in his chest stirs and turns green. Rationally, Stan knows the alcohol is getting to him. But he can’t help but feel extremely jealous of the guy Bill is talking to. He’s better than Stan in every possible way; he’s taller, more muscular, more handsome and probably also smarter. He’s in college, after all. And Bill is totally interested in him.

Stan is usually pretty good at suppressing his monster, but the alcohol seems to feed it just like Stan’s sinful thoughts do. It makes him walk over to Bill, put his hand on his shoulder and tell him he needs to talk to him.

It makes him take Bill’s hand and lead him up the stairs. It makes him find an empty room, pull Bill into it and close the door behind them.

“Is everything okay?” Bill asks, worry seeping into his tone.

 _Kiss him_ , the monster says. The alcohol weakens Stan’s will to fight, to ignore the voice, and it booms through his mind. _Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him._

Stan kisses him.

It all happens on pure instinct. Stan surges forward, grabs Bill’s face and presses their lips together. Bill falls against the door in surprise, but he doesn’t break the kiss. In fact, he’s the one who deepens it.

Kissing is a weird sensation, but Stan can’t say he _doesn’t_ like it. Bill is gentle, hands warm and comforting on his waist, tilting his head just enough to dip his tongue in Stan’s mouth. Bill’s fingers spread over Stan’s spine, and for one terrifying, exhilarating moment, it feels like his fingers are the only thing tethering Stan to reality. If not for Bill’s steady hands, he would surely float up into the sky and never come down again.

Stan is the first one to pull back. He keeps his eyes closed, afraid of Bill’s reaction, but then Bill kisses him again and Stan knows they’re okay. That this is what they want.

Their second kiss is shorter, a mere touch of lips, and Bill rests his forehead against Stan’s when he pulls back.

"I love you,” Stan breathes. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe his monster made him brave, but suddenly he feels like he can’t keep it a secret anymore.

Bill digs his nails in the dip of Stan’s back.

“I love you too,” he whispers back.

The words are like a warm blanket to Stan’s aching mind. His monster shrinks and shrinks and shrinks until it comfortably settles between his ribs, close to his heart. There, it stays.

Finally, after twelve years, the monster is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go back and forth between hc'ing Stan as gay and poly, and I purposely wrote it so that he could be either in this! (His "monster" wasn't interested in Bev, but poly people could easily be attracted to a couple of genders and not be attracted to e.g. girls)


	7. Self-acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie Kaspbrak has a lot of secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as it turns out, Eddie is the hardest character for me to write. I'm not 100% satisfied with this chapter but I don't think I'll ever really nail Eddy's characterization, so I'm gonna leave it at this. I hope you still enjoy!

Eddie Kaspbrak has a lot of secrets. He secretly really likes comic books, he stole some weed from Bowers one time and smoked it alone in his room (he had a bad trip and never smoked again), he constantly keeps secrets from his mother about where he’s going and who he’s hanging out with and nobody, not even the losers, knows that his favorite movie is Footloose.

But his biggest secret is Richie Tozier.

It starts when they’re sixteen. Richie starts hanging out with Beverly a lot more than before, and for some reason, Eddie doesn’t like it. It’s weird not being Richie’s top priority anymore; where he would constantly bother Eddie, Richie now also starts bothering Beverly. The two become almost as inseparable as Richie and Eddie used to be.

So Eddie does what he does best: he walks away. Where he used to hang out with Richie alone a lot, he now makes excuses not to go. He hangs out more with Stan now, to the subtle-but-still-there displeasure of Bill. Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck is going on with those two, but it’s almost like they’re conjoined from the hip up.

Richie notices something is up with him and tries to talk to him about it, but Eddie pretends like nothing is wrong. What would he say, anyway? That he’s _jealous_ ? Richie would surely make that weird one way or another. Eddie isn’t _jealous_ . He’s just… displeased with Richie being close with other people. Which isn’t jealousy. It’s _not_.

The others start noticing it too. Ben asks if something happened at home, to which Eddie just snaps that nothing ever happens at his home. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Not to Richie, not to anyone. Because talking about it would mean acknowledging the fact that Eddie considers Richie his best friend, and he can’t show that kind of weakness. He has a reputation to uphold.

So it goes on like this for a while. Richie asks him to hang out after school, just the two of them, and Eddie declines. Richie and Beverly sit together during History, constantly whispering and laughing together, and something clenches in the pit of Eddie’s stomach. When the losers all hang out together, the normal banter between Richie and Eddie is almost nonexistent. Richie has stopped calling Eddie Eds, and Eddie is oddly upset about it.

Eddie finally can’t keep his frustration to himself anymore when Richie pulls him into an empty classroom one day at school. Eddie had seen Richie and Beverly sitting shoulder to shoulder at their table that day and had promptly turned around and eaten his lunch in the restroom instead of with the other losers.

“Alright, what the fuck is going on with you?” Richie demands. Eddie rolls his eyes and makes a move for the door, but Richie grabs his wrist. “Seriously, Eddie. What is it?”

Eddie jerks his hand out of Richie’s grip. He still has to look up slightly to look Richie in the eyes. God damnit, why is he _still_ taller than Eddie?

“Nothing is going on,” he tells him. “Can I go now?”

“No,” Richie says. “Why didn’t you sit with us during lunch today? Where’d you go?”

“Why would you care?”

Richie blinks at him. His glasses may not be that comically big anymore, but they still magnify his brown eyes.

“Why _wouldn’t_ I care?” He asks softly. Fuck, why is he being so serious and _caring_? It’s disgusted. Eddie is disgusted. That probably explains the weird feeling in his stomach.

“Because you’re all caught up with Beverly lately!” Eddie finally snaps, throwing his hands up. “You’re _literally_ always together. What, does she sleep over too? Are you ever not around her?”

Richie frowns. “Eddie, you know she’s gay, right?”

“I know! But do you? Because it sure as hell seems like you’re trying your damn hardest to get in her pants.”

Richie is quiet for a moment. Then, very slowly, a slick grin spreads over his face.

“Eddie Spaghetti, are you… jealous?” He asks, way too cheerful.

“No!” Eddie says quickly. He feels his cheeks flush. Fuck.

Richie notices his red cheeks and grins even wider.

“Ooooh, you totally are. You’re jealous because you think I have the hots for Beverly. And you’d only be jealous if…” He raises both eyebrows and takes a step towards Eddie, anticipating Eddie to take one back like he usually does. This time, however, he stands his ground. As if to prove a point.

Richie raises his eyebrows even higher.

“Okay, be honest,” he says, voice low. Eddie’s stomach does a flip. “If I were to kiss you right now, would you let me?”

Eddie’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Wh- what?” He stutters.

“You heard me,” Richie says. “Would you hit me or push me away? Or would you let me?”

“I… Uh, I - ” Eddie starts, but the words die on his lips. There’s no right way to answer that question; no matter what he says, he’ll always want to do both. Push Richie away _and_ let him kiss him.

Richie doesn’t wait for him to form a reply. He just takes another step forward, cups Eddie’s cheeks and kisses him softly on the lips.

The kiss is over as soon as it begins. One moment Richie’s lips are on Eddie’s, and the following they’re gone. Eddie can’t find his voice. He figures he must be in shock.

“You didn’t push me away,” Richie grins. He looks confident, but Eddie sees the vulnerability in his eyes. He just outed himself to him, and now Eddie holds the power to do with that as he pleases. He could easily tell the entire school, make Richie a target. Kissing him hadn’t been an act of cockiness; it had been an act of bravery.

And if Richie can be brave, so can Eddie.

“I didn’t,” he says, and then he reaches up to cup the back of Richie’s neck and pulls him down again, kissing him properly this time.

This is when Richie Tozier becomes a secret.

***

Eddie would never admit this out loud, but Richie is a really good kisser.

He corners Eddie again on Eddie’s seventeenth birthday, pulling him into his bedroom and locking the door behind him. Eddie can barely utter a single word before Richie’s lips are on his.

They’ve become quite in sync in the two months they’ve been sneaking around. Eddie knows Richie’s mouth almost as well as his own, knows where to place his hands and how to tilt his head just right. He has learned where to press his fingers to get a moan out of Richie and where he’s too ticklish to be touched.

“Happy birthday,” Richie whispers when he pulls back. Eddie grins at him.

“Now I’m older than you,” he says.

Richie pokes him in the ribs.

“Yeah, but I’m still taller,” he replies.

“Fuck you, Tozier.”

“Only if you ask nicely,” Richie says as he pulls Eddie closer to him.

Eddie rolls his eyes but kisses him again anyway. Richie is still a damn Trashmouth, but Eddie doesn’t mind that much anymore. Richie lets himself be kissed for a few seconds before pulling back again.

“I know I’m irresistible with my boyishly good looks and nice curls, but I didn’t just drag you in here to make out,” he says.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s true!” He takes something out of his back pocket and hands it to Eddie. “Here. Your birthday gift.”

“If this is a pack of condoms I’m gonna shove them up your ass,” Eddie warns.

“God, I promise it isn’t! Just open it, asshole.”

Eddie glares at him but does as he’s told. He rips the brown paper and hands it to Richie so he can see what’s inside.

“A mixtape?” He asks when he’s taken the gift out of the wrapping.

“Yeah,” Richie says, suddenly shy. He looks away as he continues, “I got the idea from Stan. He likes making mixtapes, so I asked him if he could help me make one for you.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say. This might be the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for him.

“Uh, it has some of your favorite songs on it. And some of mine, too.” He shrugs casually, but Eddie can tell Richie is nervous about his reaction. “You know, so that you’ll think of me when you listen to it.”

Eddie’s heart clenches. _God_ , Richie Tozier really has him under his spell.

“I’m always thinking of you,” he says softly. “Thank you, Richie. I love it.”

Richie breaks into a relieved grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. He grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him down to plant a kiss on his lips. Richie brings up his hands to cup Eddie’s cheeks and deepens it, dragging his tongue over Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie is just about to open his mouth for him when Richie starts giggling.

“What’s so funny?” He asks.

“Nothing,” Richie says, trying to bite back his laugh. “I just remembered today is the day your mom pushed you out of her vagina.”

Eddie stomps him on the arm.

“Richie!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Richie laughs. He tries to wrap his arms around Eddie’s waist, but Eddie steps out of his embrace.

“You totally ruined the mood,” he grumbles, fumbling with the lock on his door.

“I’m sorry, Eddie Spaghetti. Don’t be mad.”

Eddie looks up from the lock to look at Richie instead.

“I’m not mad, dickhead. If I got mad every time you said something stupid I would be in jail for murder by now.” Then he turns back to the door and unlocks it. “We need to get back downstairs anyway. We’ve been gone for too long.”

Richie chews his lip.

“You’re right,” he says eventually. He gives him a last quick peck before stepping out of the room.

Bill asks where they’d been for so long when they get back to the living room, to which Richie shrugs and says they were making out. Eddie’s entire body stiffens, but the others just laugh.

Eddie guesses sometimes the truth is harder to believe than the craziest lie.

***

“You know, you have really pretty eyes,” Richie says one afternoon late spring. They’re lying on Richie’s bed, Eddie on top of Richie, and have been talking and kissing for the past two hours.

“Uh, thanks?” Eddie says. He still gets flustered whenever Richie compliments him.

“You’re welcome, nerd.” Richie lifts his hand from Eddie’s waist and strokes the space between his eyebrows. “They’re really brown. I like brown eyes.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? It’s weird.”

Richie narrows his eyes at Eddie.

“I can be less nice, if you want,” he says. Then he flips them over so that Eddie is now lying underneath Richie and slides his hand over Eddie’s side to his hip and eventually his ass. “Wanna slap our dicks together until we cum?”

“I don’t think that’s how sex works,” Eddie laughs.

Richie frowns. “Yeah, how _does_ gay sex work?”

Eddie freezes. Richie immediately takes his hand off his ass and sits up, a shadow of worry moving over his face.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. “I didn’t mean to pressure you into anything. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Eds.”

Eddie sits up too, avoiding Richie’s gaze.

“No, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. It’s just… I’m not… I’m not _gay_.” The word leaves a dirty taste in his mouth. Suddenly, his mother’s voice is booming through his head and he’s taken back to a night a couple of weeks ago, when he wore a scarf to the dinner table to hide a hickey Richie left on his collarbone.

“I heard William is sick,” she had said. Eddie had looked up from his peas with a frown. Bill wasn’t sick as far as he knew.

“No, he isn’t,” Eddie had replied. If he were, he wouldn’t be allowed to see him until he got better.

“Well, does he not have homosexual tendencies?”

Eddie vividly remembers the way his stomach had clenched at the words. How sick he suddenly felt.

“I don’t… Uh, I don’t know. I don’t think so?” Eddie had lied. Richie had told him weeks before that he had kissed Bill last summer. He hadn’t meant to out him, but they were talking about the people they’d kissed and it had just slipped out. Richie made Eddie promise not to tell anyone, so he didn’t.

“I’ve heard the rumors, Eddie-bear. If they’re true, I don’t want you anywhere near him, alright? I don’t want him to infect you.”

“In- infect me?”

“Yes,” his mother had nodded solemnly. “Homosexuality is a sickness like any other, honey. It can be cured, but it can also be spread. So if I get the impression that Bill is carrying that disease, you are to never see him again. Do you understand?”

Eddie had looked down to his food, sick to his stomach. He’d always known being gay was _wrong_ , he just never knew it was a sickness.

“Yes, mom.”

Richie snaps him out of the memory.

“Eds,” he says softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Eddie slaps it away. He suddenly can’t stand to be touched anymore.

“I’m not sick!” He snaps, jumping to his feet. Richie gets out of bed too.

“I never said you were sick,” he tries to reason with him, but Eddie barely registers it.

“I- I have to go,” he stutters, frantically searching for his shoes. He quickly puts them on and storms down the stairs, ignoring Richie calling after him.

Eddie isn’t sick. He _isn’t_. And if being gay is a sickness, then he isn’t gay either.

***

Richie leaves him alone for a while after Eddie’s freakout. They still see each other when the losers are all hanging out together, but Richie doesn’t ask him to come to his house afterwards or sneaks through Eddie’s window when his mom is asleep. They’re back to just being friends, and though part of Eddie is relieved, a bigger part of him misses Richie.

Of course he can’t just miss him like normal people miss others. Of _fucking_ course he needs to be a little emo shit about it. Of course he finally decides to listen to Richie’s mixtape exactly one week and two days after he ran out of Richie’s house.

He lies on bed, staring at his ceiling, and listens intently to each and every song on the mixtape. It’s amazing how well Richie remembered Eddie’s favorite songs. Maybe he pays more attention to him than Eddie gives him credit for.

Richie’s favorite songs aren’t really Eddie’s style, but they serve their purpose: they make him think of him. And they make him miss him even more.

Eddie groans and throws back the covers, making his way downstairs. He’s as quiet as he can in order not to wake his mother and makes it to the kitchen without getting caught. There, he takes the phone off the hook and dials Richie’s number.

Nobody answers the first time he calls, which makes sense. It’s already past midnight.

Eddie tries again, realizing his heart is hammering in his chest. He suddenly isn’t so sure about this anymore. Doubt starts filling his mind again, but he doesn’t get the chance to change his mind before someone on the other end of the line picks up.

“Hello?” Richie croaks. He sounds like he had already been asleep.

“Hey, asshole,” Eddie greets quietly. “Can you come over?”

Richie is quiet for a moment. Eddie imagines him rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Sure,” he eventually says. “Be there in ten.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, and then he hangs up.

He waits impatiently in his room for Richie to arrive. He can’t stop fumbling with his fingers, even though the action only makes him more nervous. There are a thousand things running through his mind, and yet he has no idea what to even say to Richie when he gets here. _“Hey, Rich. Sorry for not speaking to you for a whole week. Wanna make out?”_ Yeah, right.

Eddie jumps when he hears Richie tap on his window. He quickly moves to open it and pulls Richie in. Richie falls onto the floor because his foot gets stuck and glares at Eddie.

“You could’ve left your window open, genius.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says. He offers his hand to help Richie up, but doesn’t let go once he’s back on his feet. Richie looks from their hands to Eddie.

“So, what’s up?” He asks. Eddie is glad that Richie doesn’t let go off his hand either.

“I, uh, listened to your mixtape.”

“Well, finally! I gave you that weeks ago.”

“I know,” he says, looking away. “I just never had to listen to it to think about you because we were always together, you know? But now I did, and I thought about you, and I missed you. I _miss_ you.”

Richie squeezes his hand.

“I miss you too.” He leads Eddie to his bed and sits down on it, pulling Eddie with him. He still doesn’t let go off Eddie’s hand. “You gotta talk to me, Eds. I know this is scary, but we’re in this together. Okay? We need to talk to each other.”

Eddie nods.

“You’re right,” he says. “Just… It’s just…” He takes a deep breath, trying to think of the right words to say. “I’m just… Not ready to label myself.”

“That’s okay,” Richie reassures him. “Really, it is. We can just be Richie and Eddie, okay? We don’t need to label it.”

“Really?” Eddie asks, finally meeting Richie’s eyes. Richie offers him a warm smile. _God_ , how he missed that smile. How is it possible to miss something so much after only one week?

“Really. I just really want to fucking kiss your stupid face, Eds. I don’t care about the labels.”

Eddie smiles.

“I really want to fucking kiss your stupid face too.”

Richie’s smile turns into a grin.

“Then do it, coward,” he teases.

So Eddie does.

***

Richie becomes a hard secret to keep.

It’s not like the others _suspect_ something. Richie and Eddie are just as affectionate around them as they were before they started hooking up, but it’s hard not being able to kiss him or hold his hand or even just sit a bit too close to him. Eddie is constantly paranoid that someone is gonna notice something. If _he_ notices the softness in Richie’s gaze when he looks at him, then surely someone else must notice it too.

They go on a camping trip in the summer of ‘93. Eddie has to sit on Richie’s lap during the drive there and Richie constantly teases him by drawing circles on his hip with his thumb. Nobody could possibly see and it’s kind of exciting to sneak around like that in plain view, but his hip is also one of Eddie’s soft spot and he has to use every muscle in his body in order not to squirm under Richie’s touch.

Eddie is too scared of getting caught to really do much in their tent, so they leave it at some light kissing. Richie still really wants to cuddle though, and who is Eddie to deny him that? Besides, he really likes being curled up against Richie’s chest.

***

Another year ticks by like that. Richie and Eddie date in secret (because that’s what it is; they’re dating. They do stuff that could be seen as dates if they were heterosexual and they make out a lot and Eddie thinks he might even be in love with Richie), nobody suspects a thing and Eddie sits at the dinner table listening to his mother telling him about the disease of homosexuality. A year ago, Eddie would’ve believed her. But he doesn’t feel bad when he’s with Richie - on the contrary, even. He always feels his best when he’s with him - so how sick could he really be?

And then their last summer all together rolls around. They’ll all be starting college in the fall (even Richie, who always swore he’d never set foot in an institute of education again after high school) and a sense of loss follows all of them around the entire summer.

Richie holds Eddie’s hand on their way to Georgia. Anyone in the car looking at them could see, but Eddie doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t know what’ll happen to them, to Richie and him, when they start college, so he might as well enjoy touching him as long as he still can.

“Nice touch on pretending to not want to share a bed with me,” Richie says in their motel room. Bill and Stan could walk in any moment, so Eddie throws a pillow at Richie’s face and point at the bathroom.

“I’m not pretending. Go take a shower or I’ll rip your pubes out when you sleep.”

Richie raises an eyebrow.

“Kinky. That’d be the closest you’ve come to my dick in the year and a half we’ve been dating.”

“And it’ll be the closest I’ll ever come if you don’t take a shower.”

“Oh, shit,” Richie says, immediately making his way to the bathroom.

“And use _soap_!” Eddie calls after him.

“Fine!” Richie groans. Eddie can’t help but smile at the defeat in his voice.

He doesn’t sleep a lot that night. He lies awake thinking about Richie and his future with him, especially if they end up going to a different college. For years now, Richie has kind of been his armor against the real world. Whenever he got scared or overwhelmed, Richie was there to pull him in their own private bubble where nothing existed except for them. What will happen to them if they go to different colleges? Will they try to do the whole long distance thing or will they break up or maybe they’ll technically still be together but also see other people? Those are the thoughts that keep him up for the biggest part of the night.

Eddie keeps thinking about it during the second part of their roadtrip and when they’re getting ready for the frat party. He wants to talk to someone about his concerns, but the only one he can talk to about them is Richie. And knowing Richie, he’ll probably just tell him they’ll figure it out and that everything will be fine. It’s a nice enough gesture, but it’s not what Eddie needs to hear.

Beverly finds him outside later that night. He’s sitting on the fire escape, looking over the city, when she joins him. She lets her legs dangle from the platform and lights a cigarette.

“What’cha doing out here, Ed?” She asks.

Eddie shrugs.

“Thinking,” he says.

“About what?”

“College, mostly,” he sighs. “If we’ll all still be friends a year from now.” It’s not a complete lie; he worries about that too, but he also knows it’s easier to stay friends than it is to stay in a relationship when you’re in different colleges.

“I think we will be,” Bev says, determined. “We just need to stay in touch. Call, write letters. Come visit each other.”

“Meet each other in Derry during the holidays,” Eddie adds.

“Ooh, good one! We should definitely do that. Just have a few days a year in our calendars we keep for the losers. It’s gonna be fine, Eds.”

Eddie is quiet. Maybe she’s right; maybe all his worries are in vain. Maybe he and Richie will be just fine.

But if Eddie ever wants to be with Richie like he truly wants to be, he needs to admit something first.

“Hey, Bev? Can I tell you something?”

“Sure you can, Eddie,” Bev says. She smiles her typical Beverly smile, all warm and loving. Eddie falls a little bit in love with her right then, in the most platonic way possible.

“I’m gay,” he says. It isn’t a whisper exactly, but it’s still softly spoken. It feels weird tasting that word on his lips and not have it leave a dirty taste.

“Okay,” Beverly says, and that’s all Eddie needs to hear.

That it’s _okay_.

***

Bill got them separate motel rooms in Georgia, which means Eddie doesn’t have to worry about being caught. He can kiss and touch Richie as much as he wants behind closed doors and drawn curtains.

That privacy finally gives him the courage to sit Richie down and talk to him.

“What’s up, babe?” Richie asks when Eddie tells him they need to talk. There’s an edge of anxiety to his voice.

“I’m not breaking up with you, don’t worry,” Eddie quickly assures him. Richie’s shoulders immediately relax. “I’ve just been… Worried, I guess. About us.”

“What’s wrong with us?”

“Nothing, Rich. Please don’t freak out, alright? I’ve just been thinking about what we’re gonna do if we go to different colleges. Like, do you want to… Break up?”

“Do _you_ want to break up?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Absolutely fucking not. But what if we go to college on opposite coasts? Are we gonna stay together? Is that realistic?”

Richie chews his lip and looks away. He’s quiet for a few heartbeats, and then he turns back to Eddie. There’s determination in his eyes.

“Look, Eds. I don’t know what’ll happen once we start college. I don’t know if we’ll stay together or break up or meet someone else. Maybe I’ll get hit by a bus tomorrow and die in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. But I do know this; I love you, Eddie Kaspbrak. I’m _in love_ with you. And I want to be with you more than I want anything else. So I’m ready to go for it if you are.”

Eddie’s heart is hammering _everywhere_ ; in his throat, in his chest, in his ears, in his fingertips. Richie has never sounded so certain about anything. The thing he’s most sure of is his love for Eddie.

_The thing he’s most sure of is his love for Eddie._

Eddie blinks away the sudden tears threatening to spill from his eyes and presses his forehead to Richie’s, wanting to be as close to him as he possibly can.

“I love you too,” he says.

And right now, that’s all that matters.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because this is what summer tastes like.

Beverly realizes she likes girls way before any of the other members of The Losers Club realize they like boys.

But here’s the thing: it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if you’ve always known, like Bill, or if you struggled with it a lot, like Stan and Eddie, or if you just gradually realized, like Ben and Mike and Richie. Finding out who you are and getting comfortable with it is a journey, and for some there are more obstacles than for others.

Eddie is the first loser to _officially_ come out after Beverly. He does it during the summer of ‘95, when all of them are reunited in Derry. He sits them all down, takes Richie’s hand and just says, quick and clear, “I’m gay.”

The others follow soon after. Within one afternoon, they all come out in their own way. Some don’t have labels for themselves, like Richie, and others are still discovering which label fits them best, like Bill.

It’s a magical afternoon early July at the Barrens. Beverly cries a lot, even though she knows about all of them, and they all smile and laugh and hug a lot.

The losers club had always been a safe space for all of them, and yet they had all been so afraid to truly be who they were.

Not anymore. They can be honest and open with each other, and there is no shame or embarrassment or regret.

Because this is what summer tastes like; it tastes like self-discovery, like facing fears. It’s research and adventure; honesty and bravery. It’s making friends out of your monsters, and most of all, it’s about learning how to love yourself and who you are, and being absolutely and entirely unapologetic about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little epilogue dedicated to everyone reading this struggling with their sexuality. Remember that it's okay. It's a journey and you'll get there eventually!


End file.
